Where the shadow is, tender like a tired doe that had been following the heartbeat, approached and lied down into the grass next to someone's feet. Or perhaps, a moment when a deer stopped to to touch the field flowers with its nose, eager to feel how the Earth breathes with fragrant herbs and the pine wind uniquely. From there I would write you letters on lilies' petals, and instead of periods I'd rip them off to let them flow with the stream of a wonderful nothern river whose bends I see from my semi-circle window.
In Iroquois language this might sound as ohAha. In my language, you are the bright and clear night that lost its stars in the river pebble.