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  • Writer's pictureebeth206

You'll Know

I was out for a harbor walk with Jasper this brisk sunny morning when Amazon's "My Soundtrack" played me "Dreams."

(Props to the IT people who know how to read minds and moods with music.)

Of course, hearing it reminded me of the Tik-Tok guy skateboarding with his cranberry juice. It was only twenty-five seconds, that video, so we didn't get to finish the song or find out whether he finished the jug. But it was a shard of pure joy, and a whole bunch of us appreciated that he put it out there to share.

I picture happiness that way in general, as a fragment of broken glass on the sidewalk. Not for picking up but for noticing. These slivers catch the light, bounce it back to you.

That one right there, it's all yours. Somebody else might pass it by.

Shard: beside the coffeemaker this morning, I shivered with pleasure at the thought of returning to the cozy bed, mug in one hand and pen in the other, to watch the early-morning sky shift from cobalt to blush.

I didn't write about much beyond the virus and its seemingly never-ending permutations and when it would feel okay to visit my mom and send Reed back to school. Sometimes I can't arrive at these decisions on my own and need to confer with the committee. So, a reassuring phone call with one of my most trusted members, another fragment.

They might be small. They'll almost certainly be unexpected.

And sure, you can carry a few home, risk the blood and thumb the edges, mason-jar a cache on the shelf, mosaic a table. But each one, discrete, extant, all on its own, one at a time, is essentially what we get--isn't it?

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