It's Clair De Lune.

It's Clair De Lune.
I don't know how else to explain it to you,
or really how to put it into words.

It's when rain falls sideways outside my open windows.
It washes the railings and the yellow house, cars and autumn trees.
I have a moment to stop
nose pressed to glass
to listen.

It's just as I stir in the morning,
right before it all collects back in.
Right before I remember why I ever worry at all.
Just as one eye opens to the glow on the horizon.

It's the first sip of coffee.

It's the way it spins in this faint blue mug.

Bare feet on chilled hardwood.

Sometimes it feels like this world is just routine.
Just something we have to do,
put up with
endure
suffer through.

I get the e-mails.
The phone calls.
Not a day goes by without a wonder
why He still keeps us here.

And then moments.
Tiny slips in the veil of time
when I wonder
if I've just felt what earth was
supposed to be.

Did I just glimpse
Eden?

Did that apple fall from my fingers,
untouched,
untasted,
back on to the tree for a moment?

The air ripples,
and I feel it.
My heart races with recognition.

"And they heard the sound of the Lord God
walking in the garden in the cool of the day,
and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God
among the trees of the garden."

It's almost as though, right then, the garden is in my kitchen.
It's the cool of the day
and I could swear
I just heard footsteps.

And instead of hiding,
all I want is to abide.
To be.

For a moment,
I'm relieved. 

With one sip of coffee,
Debussy and the rain.
Footsteps.
Falling close.
Just on the other side of the veil.
Eden.