I can tell you it is in a blade of grass newly shot from the earth clean clear bright green
or the small sound coming from the nest there in the eaves you’d been waiting to hear and just now hear
or the pink and orange that can never be found on an artists palette rising in the eastern autumn sky
or in the touch of the one after so long apart.
but none of these
not one none
hold the right words
there are never the words
that speak to what it is when one heart opens for no other reason than what must be God entering in.
I keep trying though. To tell. To explain what just happened again there, me, my two hands and cup of tea, and the gentle sun-filled rain on fresh-tilled earth….