This alone, the depths of afternoon, lunch
prepared and consumed, the repletion paired
with the emptiness of hours, offhand warmth -
somewhere in it - contentment is layered.
I know you can’t forget the avalanche
forecast for tomorrow, nothing halts midair,
not a single snowflake can be turned, changed,
persuaded to retreat or fall elsewhere -
every drop and flake reaches where it’s meant.
But today a pale faced sun lies languid
on the stubs of grass beyond, no portent
mars the skies, the road runs quiet on the grid
and streams and times are silvery, quite fluid.No grand sweeps, happiness is a moment.
There seems to be some sort of epidemic of French titles around here, I've no idea why or where that's come from. I do NOT speak a word of French, much as I am fascinated by French stuff (that's art and short stories and long stories and food and beverage mostly, before anyone gets any ideas...)
All this month I am trying to write 'happy' and failing generally. However, I have managed to steer clear of exclamations. And emoticons as well. Serious success. That's happiness enough for the time being, I can live with that.