Happiness 4-9
a seed sinking into the warm, soft ground; yellow silk; pigeons cooing.
a seed sinking into the warm, soft ground; yellow silk; pigeons cooing.
the six of swords; throwing the ball; the street lined with pear blossoms in the rain.
two stones creating a spark; the fragrance of curries and spices in a bazaar; an eye pillow.
the journey to the east; swinging from the crystal chandelier; going below.
discovering the fallen star in your backyard and picking it up; Persian lilac; what you encounter on Tom Ball Mountain.
a soft blue sky as close as a fingertip; letting the arrow fly; solace after rain.
the bowling ball whizzing down the center of the lane; knitting up a storm; the silver birch in starlight.
breaking a habit; the tickle of minnows around your toes; seaweed.
the mysterious sounding bowls; a praying mantis on your flowering window-box; actualizing your self.
hopping on the wagon; the tiny door into the garden; marching in the parade.
the ship’s flag flying in a stiff breeze; the human touch; sitting in your pleasure-garden under the mango tree.
taking the bus; soaked through with moonlight; over the field and through the woods.
consulting with the wise owl in the rafters of the barn; drawn by six white horses; bergamot and violets.
the sizzling drizzle of oil on grilling vegetables; serendipity; meeting again in the candy store.
lying on the rock beside the seal; vast spaces; a singular opportunity.
glass earrings in the firelight; soaking up the sun; realizing you’re a mountain, not a squirrel, and you don’t have to crack a nut.
what the medal is for; standing on the breakwater and gazing out to sea; drawn to the encampment by the sound of violins.
the strange lady galloping through the mist; resting for a while in a field of poppies; cleaning the rust from your armor and donning it.
honeysuckle in a forest grove; seeing your ship come in; Antares shining particularly brightly.
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Hestia, the mysterious goddess of the hearth; an extraordinary time; being as majestic as mountains.
that long afternoon at Mont St. Michel; lost at the flower festival; your eyes meeting across a crowded room.