A Wee Bit Of Happiness
All throughout my life I have occasionally experienced a feeling I could only describe as a rush of unexpected happiness. Driving down the road, walking Edward, or just drifting along a crowded street, devoid of thought, it comes over me like a sea breeze, and I suddenly feel ...happy. I used to analyze it. What specifically am I happy about? Why did this feeling show itself at this particular moment? Did I do, or think, something to conjure it? No more. Now I just close my eyes, take a breath, and drink it in. I have learned to accept it as a gift. A blessing. Perhaps a brush of an angel’s wing. Or God’s own gaze turned my way.
The colors of September always entice me into my poetry books and I recognized a bit of this happy feeling I have attempted to describe here within the verses of this picturesque poem by Raymond Carver.
Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
All throughout my life I have occasionally experienced a feeling I could only describe as a rush of unexpected happiness. Driving down the road, walking Edward, or just drifting along a crowded street, devoid of thought, it comes over me like a sea breeze, and I suddenly feel ...happy. I used to analyze it. What specifically am I happy about? Why did this feeling show itself at this particular moment? Did I do, or think, something to conjure it? No more. Now I just close my eyes, take a breath, and drink it in. I have learned to accept it as a gift. A blessing. Perhaps a brush of an angel’s wing. Or God’s own gaze turned my way.
The colors of September always entice me into my poetry books and I recognized a bit of this happy feeling I have attempted to describe here within the verses of this picturesque poem by Raymond Carver.
Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
