Softness brushes the glass pane, steadily patting at the window with delicate plush soles, the kind that make intricate embroidery patterns on freshly fallen snow, but no sounds, no sounds at all, ever.

The soft breeze that touched me has opened the sky, and sun dappled brightness like honey, but who has the time for the birds in the trees and genially watching the bunnies?

A mirror in time my life has become, the doors to my soul open wide. What couldn’t I be? What couldn’t I find when boundaries fell to the side?

As I am I will go to my Maker, I don’t need to pretend to be more. I stand as I am from now on. As I am is enough. As I am I bare my soul.

On being here, on living here, on being lived by me: one for the stone, two for the wind, three for the perfect sea.