The moon is pale in the cloud-scattered blue daylit sky.

I sit barefoot beneath a tree

And listen to birds sing.

I have a plate of cookies

And a glass of milk.

I feel little again,

A pigtailed kindergartener catching ants,

And eating Mother's

Homemade chocolate chip cookies.

The apple trees are blooming

And the smell is sweet and perfect.

The sun warms my feet

As I watch the ants around my toes climb

Sky-towering grass blades

In search of heaven.

If I could speak to them, I'd say,

"Heaven is where you are

Where your heart is happy

And the world doesn't stop or pass you by,

But lets you be,

And it's good that way."

But I can't speak to ants,

And if I could I doubt they'd listen.

So I lean against the tree trunk

And watch dappled sun-patterns play over my feet.

The world doesn't stop

Or pass me by

But lets me be

And it's good that way.