It’s a still Sunday morning. All the doors and windows are open. Music is playing. I’ve just had a croissant and a mug of good percolated coffee. Michael is reading the Sunday Times. I crept out earlier into the cool dark garden to bring the paper inside and lay in bed scanning the horrible news and reading the unimportant stuff more thoroughly. My dear daughter is coming round a bit later.
I’m feeling ridiculously happy.
Sometimes a host of little things come together and make a wave of satisfied contentment that breaks over me making me feel very happy. Most of these things are available all the time, and I am grateful for many of them, but when this combination happens, it is such a powerful overwhelming of feeling blessed that I have to express it somehow; write a blog, sing a song, whatever…
I think it’s the noticing of the little things that makes us happy and that when we get into the way of doing it, happiness becomes habitual.