But Sigh

The morning after we bought the van
we drove down the mountain,
last night's rain still clinging to the 27 year old paint.

Cows bobbled slowly across the scrub oak hills
and clouds coalesced where no clouds had been the day before.

We clinked coffee mugs then, brown liquid sloshing with the washboard road.

The cat prowled and bounced in the back, searching for some stability.

My favorite Irish folk singer sang a song about a forest.

Few are the moments where we feel so perfect,
feel that the life is everywhere and there is nothing to do

but sigh.