Mike Stone's poem is a tiny scene that feels like a blessing. We never see the woman herself, only what surrounds her: butterflies and "other sentient beings" arrive ahead of her, as if the world is clearing and brightening her way. The phrase "sentient beings" is a curious choice. It sounds almost scientific, yet it quietly insists that insects, birds and animals all have awareness, and that they matter.
Then the poem shifts to a cloud of birds that "ascends," a word set on its own line so that it seems to lift off the page. The final line drops us into a field of cows, calm and earthbound, which is a gentle, slightly funny contrast to the rising birds. The speaker doesn't announce a feeling, but the attention suggests admiration and tenderness, both for her and for the living world around her. The mood is peaceful, light and quietly joyful, like noticing something lovely and wanting to say it in as few words as possible.