Such a perfect day

You are so full of positivity that you already feel happy for the people who get to share this day with you. If only for a minute. You feel like you've found the meaning of your life and it is to make people spot all the pretty little nonsense-seeming details that eventually paint the big beautiful picture that is their life. You feel like you can not hold this feeling inside you for another minute or you're simply going to run outside and tell the first soul you see, shout out that it's perfect!
You wake up at half six in the morning with a bit of a shock that you actually want to jump out of bed straight away so you do it. The grass is still dewy, but you know that the sun has been shining strong for a while. It will be another hot day.
Your friends who have stayed the night come back to life about an hour later, you have already cleaned up the empty bottles and slightly embarrassing display of general boozy night debris. You feel better although your parents have already seen it and they only laugh at you, you're still young and this time there was no baby sleeping in the house. besides they were happy that I woke up at home and didn't stay somewhere else again.
You have a coffee with your friends, then a second one, a chat, a cigarette, maybe a bite to eat. You don't feel like eating this early, really.
Your friends leave and you have some me-time, old newspapers, juice, Jeff Buckley, Milosh, Gavin Moore.
You give a hand to your dad, lifting heavy wooden scaffolding, feeling loved when he gives you his working gloves so you wouldn't get splinters. His palms are too hardened for that already or so he says.
Your mum arrives home from the market and gives you a mission. Take the lilies and the watering can and visit the graveyard. You grab them and set off in your light summerdress floating around you but you don't get far before your neighbour from the house across the road, a nice lady in her seventies, calls you over for a chat. You haven't met her in a few years and she barely recognizes you, you couldn't remember her more clearly, though. She's got so old. Deep lines in her face, showing her real age, but in her heart she hasn’t aged a day. You talk about flowers and she tells you stories of your grandmother, whose grave you're going to visit. How she used to tell your neighbour what a good girl you are. And how much you read. She was proud of you. Sometimes you think whether she would still be proud of you now, nine years after her passing away.
One way to get to the graveyard is to take the walk through the woods. The birdsong and the mosquitoes and the grasshoppers and the rays of sun shining in through the trees, the wild strawberries and the blueberries. You remember how you used to pick them and put them on a straw, just like beads. Then you went to your grandmother and you put the berries in a bowl and your grandmother would take out the small 3-litre container, which she’s had for as long as you can remember, it’s always been full of milk, too, as it is this time, and generously, with a scoop, lifts milk on your biggest treasures. Every now and again, you might feel like adding sugar to your berries, too, but I think not this time. Not in this memory.
You find the burial plot and arrange the lilies into the vases. Then you take the watering can and head to one of the hydrants on the side of the so-called main road of the cemetery. It’s a beautiful place, really, in the middle of a smallish forest. Big trees guarding the sleep of our ancestors. The sounds in there make you want to sit down and have a moment with your thoughts, or to just listen to the wind in the treetops and if you’re quiet enough, a woodpecker arrives and maybe a squirrel. You know why you didn’t take the dog today.
On your way back the rusty iron crosses, scattered around, unaligned, surrounded by high grass, forest flowers and some trees. No one ever steps there, this is real sacred ground. Who is buried there - even that no one knows any more. Rays of sun from between the trees are giving that piece of land a magical glow. You don’t even want to leave through the gates that are now right in front of you.
You almost run to your grandparents place, sit them down and ask them to tell you stories. You have heard them all a hundred times before, but today they all sound brand new to your ears.