Amid the stress of being squeezed
between struggling generations,
I visit a horse chestnut tree
to marvel at its late spring light show,
precisely timed by some cosmic designer
so that bulbous clusters of fringed white flowers
with yellow centers turn vibrant pink
after they’re pollinated, and the tree blazes
for a brief time with all three colors at once,
set off against leaves of rich forest green,
like Christmas in June but with a honeyed scent 
and the presence of bees, and I count my blessings.