She arrives already composed,
as though the day has been rehearsing
for her posture
long before she stepped into it.

There’s a quiet calibration happening—
a subtle rearranging of gravity
that only she appears to notice.

Even the sky holds its breath,
waiting to see if she’ll tilt the world
one degree to the left
just because she can.

The entire moment balances strangely—
as if she’s not standing in the wind,
but authoring it.