All the good things.

Church bells at a distance,
Add somehow to the vastness of the sky-at its bluest and widest.
An electric blue butterfly lands on
the rip above the knee of my jeans.
The bougainvilleas and a sole yellow hibiscus
is all that the warmer times have left behind.
A spring cleaned Sunday soul,
I sit soaking up the wintry morning sun.
This must be it,This must be Heaven.