Silence and solitude
call her a friend.
And she, them.
Keeping them close
allows her
to find herself
amid the confusion
of noise and company.
I wonder how
she teases fact
from fiction
during these moments
of quietude.
Perhaps
echoes of truth
from conversations passed,
and deep-felt emotions
from experiences of choice
mix like a churning stew
to produce something
digestible.
Doubtless
these moments
add to a sense of self,
resisting the pressure of choices-
not her’s but someone else’s.
With the strength of a sequoia
she grows from the stillness of shadows
towards the brightness of the sky
in the harshest of conditions
amid unknown faces.
An island of trust amid a sea of severity
she has no rival,
and I call her my bride.
The Bird's Song 