Simply happy

“There’s your thrush,” Amy says softly into the gathering dusk.

My sister and I are taking a post-dinner stroll down a country road. I pause to listen for the ethereal voice emanating from darkening woods. In the stillness that often accompanies twilight’s feathery descent, the sweet hollow trill, like musical prayer whispered through a glass tube, falls over me. With no other reason for it, I feel, at this precise moment—happy.

No matter that I’ve spent the afternoon alternately freezing, then sweating, in a labor of love—digging four-foot-deep holes into rock-stubbled earth as snow flurries fly—for my parents’ patiently awaited deck project. Back-busting work for sure, but I’m earning my seat on the deck.

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Shingles: a nervous disorder

I just finished up my monthly expenses and noticed something wonderful—a little bit of money left over after taxes.

As I ponder what to do with it, my mind wanders to the Caribbean. I am sitting next to Johnny Depp, who is dressed in his finest pirate attire sipping on a large margarita. I glance up to catch a glimpse of the golden sun as it sets over a brilliant azure blue sea. I close my eyes as I feel the salty sea mist on my face.

I’m brought back to reality by the phone. It’s my roofer with an estimate.

What a surprise; it’s the exact amount I have in my account. So much for the Carribean.

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A D V E R T I S E M E N T S