I would like to tell about a time that happened and disappeared, where the sky was the same color as the pool, and music came softly from some distance, and dandelions hung in the air, indecipherable from mosquitos. It smelled like rain. A total of three raindrops fell and then the sky opened up like the gate to the kingdom of light, allowing each of us, the ten or so of us, to feel the heat and gold of the sun; it is in this light where the thing happened. The world was so happy and perfect and pretty beyond all sense, there was love and appreciation, and gathering just for me; and all I could think, while staring at the smiling face of someone, while dandelions blew all around us like snowglobe snow or tossed powder or the ghosts of mosquitos, while the wind played softly on the leaves, and down by the creek ducks called and frogs answered, was that this too will end, that this peacefulness, this moment, was ending before it ever began, and that things never begin because they’re always ending, even when they’ve never happened and especially while they’re happening to you.
Find the original post for this poem here.