Joy

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It can be as simple as six unopened peonies in a group planting that should have yielded thirty or forty.  Winters are strange.  Peonies are joy.

It can be as wonderful as the first nose of lilac, and the first nose of deep purple lilac that is so much headier than the light blue ones in the back.

It is as amazing and overcoming as realizing he left the car open, windows down, no keys, but it’s ok because he’s on his way back…and three blocks down thirteenth avenue towards Albert Street from where it started, the back of the parade is slowly moving west while the front of the parade is just starting to pass behind you going south on Broad Street.

Or the smile on the face of a woman reunited with her child.

Or the still quiet golden light that fills the clover in the back yard, and the sound of bees of all shapes and sizes feasting.

It is the exhilaration of a tipi returning to where it once was, and the prospect of a beer garden being less important than the voices of our First Nations siblings, and the lives of all of our children.

It’s diner with friends, and the realization that in forgetting to pay, the realization of how exhausted you really are, a friend has your back and it’s not an issue.

Or being in the right place at the right time to find the ring of one of your biggest heroes.  Thank you Bunny.  I know you stepped on it?  But I was able to fix it.  It’s yours if you want it back, but for now, that rock is mine.

It’s the feeling of knowing your dog won’t be around as long as you’d hoped, but every day that she wakes you up with a smile and asking for a walk means it’s one more day with your fur baby.

It’s knowing that you are part of a community, part of a group of people who care about your welfare, who think about you often.

It’s the feeling I get when I dig into the soil the first time, every time.  It’s the feeling I get when I put on my habit, when I sit down with my breviary, when I light a candle before I go to bed.

The flavor of the first tomato, and watermelon, and Japanese mayonnaise.

A gentle touch while driving, a hand that just embraces a finger, for no reason.

 

 

Joy

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