Her eyes speak a language
that most cannot comprehend.
Observations made living slowly,
while everyone else is rushing past.
They speak of rising early
to watch the sky come to life once more.
They speak of walking barefoot on a lazy afternoon,
cotton candy sunsets between the heavens and the sea.
The way a golden aura casts around even the darkest clouds.
Crashing waves along the shore.
Finding treasures of rock and shell
buried in the sand.
The first taste of warmth after a long winter.
The way the flowers turn their faces to greet the sun,
eyes closed she does the same
in gratitude.
Butterflies kissing her cheek as they pass by.
A flock of geese in formation over head,
hawks that glide without effort on blustery days.
The way a feather
drifting slowly from the sky
will rise as it falls
up and down
until it lands at her feet.
The intricate weaving of fog
between the treetops.
Golden hour in the forest,
light between
the dancing leaves
glowing like a neon sign.
Wind singing as it passes through.
The way the trees
extend their arms in greeting
like old friends beckoning her home.
Her eyes speak of the the things that fill her soul with awe.
The simplest magic.
The things you can’t see
when you’re only focused on where you’re going
and never where you are.

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