Happiness was a windy day in January. Christmas had departed in a flurry of tinsel, turkey and talkative aunts, the three ‘tees’ and I’d escaped from a house still full of over-eager children. I was the eldest, wisest, fastest blah, blah, blah, when they wanted something, anyway, and also the easiest pleased: snow, I wanted snow. Grey skies and windswept streets meant I’d have to wait, but at least I’d have an hour or two’s quiet.
I turned up my collar to stave off the chill and went to sit in the park. I could sit there for hours, often did, on that solitary peeling bench. This day it was not solitary but occupied.
She had hair like autumn and eyes like spring. She was four seasons in one day. Her smile lit up my world and set me to ease. I sat, we talked, time flew. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about or why, but we did. When we’d finished, I exited my starry-eyed daze to two inches of snow and blue fingers.
Happiness was that January day. Happiness was you.