my happiness is like this sand
I let it run out of my hand
John Gould Fletcher
On the way home we pulled over. Joe wanted to visit someone and there was no-one else to visit, so we visited the river. We found the first warm patch of sand for the season, watched two young ducks bathe in the shallows, and met a few rocks.
My hunt for tangible, constant, rock-like happiness is ill conceived. Today, I'm thinking of happiness as sandy. It's shifting. There's plenty of it. It gets into everything and anything. It's the product of a watery grinding process.
Lovely post. Such great timing for me to read this.
ReplyDeleteI sometimes find myself gripping on so tightly to any piece of happiness that comes my way that I squeeze all essence of joy out of it and I am so busy grasping that I miss all the other wonderful happinesses drifting past me in the meantime.