I awoke this morning to the sound of caterpillars and butterflies, lapping waves and birch leaves. Sensorially speaking, I knew the sun was out and the lake was calm, the morning new, the day young. Serene after nine days here, where labor is rescuing trees from vines and cushions from rain, where friends have come and gone, when books come alive in a lazy hammock and food tastes better for the time you had to cook it, it was this morning alone with my daughter on my birthday that I realized how full and feather light I felt. This is happiness I thought. It doesn’t come every day nor sink this deeply, but it is here and I am going to savour it slowly like pollen on a hummingbird’s beak.
