She notices everything,
how clouds turn to gloomy gray,
rain patters gently on a window,
butterflies enjoying the petrichor of a summer rain.
It seems she's in ambedo,
absorbed in nature's peculiarity,
never failed to take her breath away
just like the beauty of an April's day.
This is happiness in solitude
found in ordinary things yet rare,
butterflies, trees,oceans and beaches,
or even bookstores filling her with sense of vellichor.