It's own kind of happiness

 

Seeing all my grandchildren

lifts me from my nose to my toes.

I rise like a helium balloon,

so full of joy I need a wicker basket

to steady me —

four little wonders are far too many

to carry in my arms alone.

Spinning fast on my bike,

singing loud where no one hears me,

I slip into my own bright pocket of peace —

my happy space, my secret place.

hiding in plain sight.

  

Food brings its own kind of happiness:

cheese to vegetables please,

warm bread with melting butter,

rainbow plates and flavors I’ve never tried.

A mouthful of joy lights me up inside,

fills my tummy, lifts my mood —

a tiny burst of endorphins.

I love when I don’t have to choose —

a menu decided for me,

or someone caring enough to pick.

Choose your own path, always,

but if someone tries to please you,

let them.

 

And nature —

my tree in the garden

where the robin sits and sings.

I was lucky — just me — to witness that small miracle,

a moment nature offers to everyone,

but one that filled me to my core.

It lifted me — the way my grandchildren do,

the way endorphins rise when I’m spinning fast,

the way a perfect mouthful of cheese

can brighten my whole body.

Inflated by joy, by nature, by life —

I rise.