she

She stands alone at the top of the hill
Barefoot, the damp grass,
The slightly muddy earth squishes between her toes
The morning sun rises above the horizon.
She looks directly at it
It doesn’t hurt her eyes.
A breeze blows her hair behind her
In rippling waves, she stands firm against the wind.
At the bottom of the hill
Is a lake, set ablaze by the reflection of the Sun;
Orange, yellow, red, purple.
It looks like a tropical plant or insect
Or is it a poisonous snake?
She holds her head high.
She could stand against the fury
Of the wind, and might of
The waves off the lake.
She is a granite statue.
So slow to be worn away
But today there is no storm.
There is a softness to the curve
Of her lips as she smiles at the rising Sun
“Welcome back, my friend! I have missed you this night.”
She laughs.
And such a laugh I shall never hear again.
Sweeter than any song of dove or mockingbird.
It reminds me of the tinkling sound
Of crystal brushing against a million other pieces of crystal.
She lingers at the top of the hill,
Reveling in the new day.
Then turns as if moved by the wind,
Her back to the lake, she walks
Down the hill. In her heart she
Sings. It’s another sunny day