Happiness in Ordinary Things
What happiness means to me
Happiness is when you slip between fresh, air-dried sheets after bathing in scented oils. It’s the yellow flame of a candle on a winter’s night while the wind whistles outside your door and you snuggle inside.
“The east wind breaks over the branch that twists, an ocean of waves among the thicket. And as the last bird sings, notes splash into the sky, washing the sunset with salty tears to drown the day.” BW
When monochrome, the day slides under trees, deep into their roots, and evening spreads her star-blanket wide, creeping over each sleeping house and prowling cat.
Dawn inches, shy into the foliage, licking every grass and berry crimson and dropping diamonds web-ward, startling spiders fast into morning’s welcome.
Waves that lap on the shore gently, enticing you to take off your shoes and dip in your toes. Orange and crimson sunsets that race across the sky, and gusts whistling through wheat in a field, making it dance.
“Each blade of emerald that swabs the dawn meadow. Every thicket flower, the sunset, and the alpine grove that plump the evening forest — even the morsel carried by the ant trailing in the dust — brings beauty.” BW
