Bluebird Kind of Days

Coffee warming up the kitchen, bare feet on the hardwood floor. You close cabinets behind me like you’ve done a thousand times before. Pancakes turning in the skillet, radio playing soft and low. Your laughter filling up the morning like the sky already knows. Outside those bluebirds working high above the world’s loud cry — painting calm across the daylight on the canvas of the sky. Bridge Maybe every now and then the world just gets it right — and the sky becomes a masterpiece before your very eyes.