Happiness 4-29
the rain lifting:
sleeping on a rug of dandelions;
finding a tiny paper boat to sail down the river.
the rain lifting:
sleeping on a rug of dandelions;
finding a tiny paper boat to sail down the river.
lightening up;
fingertips;
encountering an ancient goddess.
serenity;
climbing through the skylight;
painting yourself out of a corner.
flamingoes at sunset;
gently spreading open your petals to the sun;
a shiny hammer and lots of nails.
a light in the window;
finding the cage door unlocked and walking out;
strong arms to hug you.
two ways to go;
stringing stars in a spring sky;
forsythia bursting into yellow light.
planting;
cracking the egg from the inside;
joining the procession.
the tide coming in;
the color between indigo and violet;
stopping by his house on a cold spring evening
staying alert;
flowering dogwood in moonlight;
the moment just after you leap.
the potential in all things;
a frog talking to you on your pillow;
pushing aside a massive boulder.
at the highest point:
making the princess laugh;
a brave encounter.
the softest touch;
pushing through frozen earth to warm sunshine;
a planet made of diamond.
leaving in a balloon;
tickling the chin of a purring tiger;
a solemn occasion.
sipping slowly;
extraordinary generosity;
tapping the tree-trunk with your beak.
sunrise on lace;
going back in time;
biting into a persimmon.
tasting color;
becoming a cherry blossom;
jumping in squishy mud in your bare feet.
getting through at last;
surrounded by peacocks;
a spring breeze from the north.
planning your day;
a nightingale singing its heart out;
a flight of fancy.
spring cleaning the shell on your back;
landing on the safety net;
festooned with ribbons.
March 27
choosing your new spring hat;
at the top of the Matterhorn;
a sedge of cranes.
the fog finally lifting;
a litter of foxes;
arriving at the oasis at midnight.
a cheerful hello to an old friend;
sliding on the soft ground on your belly;
cartwheeling from star to star.