We are thoroughly snowed in and I witness my dogs’ unbridled joy as the garage door opens and they fly out well ahead of me. We have three feet of the glorious white stuff and we are expecting more as the year ends.
I back the tricycle out and follow them along the plowed path, camera in hand.
Today we are in Wonderland. Shrubs and trees are coated with diamonds and the sun shows a brilliant face.
In this very moment happiness is all around und three jubilant dogs show me the way.
A poem comes to mind, a poem newly read, by a poet just discovered through my daughter’s gift which I received this Christmas:
Halleluiah (by Mary Oliver)
Everyone should be born into this world happy and loving everything.
But in truth it rarely works that way.
For myself, I have spent my life clamering toward it.
Halleluiah, anyway I’m not where I started!
And have you too been trudging like that, sometimes almost forgetting
how wonderous the world is and how miraculously kind some people can be?
And have you too decided that probably nothing important is ever easy?
Not, say, for the first sixty year.
Halleluiah, I’m sixty now, and even a little more,
and some days I feel I have wings.