That Day

The feeling you can’t explain
when everything seems just right
and nothing could be wrong,
even though you have a list
as long as your arm
of things you would want to change.

But not on that day
when the bee dived headlong
into an unknown depth,
stayed for unconscionable time,
then emerged intoxicated,
head to toe in smudges,
powdery white – hint of blush.

And when birds sang from the
very tops of swaying trees,
because praise calls out to be sung
from the highest point.
So where else would they go
to sing their own precious song

that filled me with so much joy
on a very special day,
special only because it simply was,
and made all the more precious
because I knew only too well that
like most things in this world
it was going to end,
not in a blaze of glory way
as is often the case,
but softly handing itself over
into a comforting, slowly darkening
in-between space.