Happiness in Ordinary Things

What happiness means to me

Happiness is when you slip between fresh, air-dried sheets after bathing in scented oils. It’s the yellow flame of a candle on a winter’s night while the wind whistles outside your door and you snuggle inside.

“The east wind breaks over the branch that twists, an ocean of waves among the thicket. And as the last bird sings, notes splash into the sky, washing the sunset with salty tears to drown the day.” BW

When monochrome, the day slides under trees, deep into their roots, and evening spreads her star-blanket wide, creeping over each sleeping house and prowling cat.

Dawn inches, shy into the foliage, licking every grass and berry crimson and dropping diamonds web-ward, startling spiders fast into morning’s welcome.

Waves that lap on the shore gently, enticing you to take off your shoes and dip in your toes. Orange and crimson sunsets that race across the sky, and gusts whistling through wheat in a field, making it dance.

“Each blade of emerald that swabs the dawn meadow. Every thicket flower, the sunset, and the alpine grove that plump the evening forest — even the morsel carried by the ant trailing in the dust — brings beauty.” BW

The organic curve and beauty of a snail’s shell so simple but perfect in every way. Red dresses and generous carpet bags — think of Mary Poppins. The bright eyes and giggle of a toddler who finds simple things hilarious.

Delicious comfort food and a blazing log fire in the winter. Christmas lights strung across streets and carol singing. Festive get-togethers with people I love.

“A faint drizzle, a haze glistening, drenches down so soft like a mist of all the mornings ever uttered from the mouth of creation to the grass that sways and poppies that paint the meadow.” BW

Warm summer rain and heat that thaws your bones after a chill wind. Writing, literature, and creativity. Puddles to splash in, kites, wigwams, and rainbows. The scent of cinnamon, fresh coffee, cut grass, and geranium oil.

Trampolines, bouncy castles, real castles, sunsets, sunrises, dawn before anyone else is up apart from the birds. Meditation, piano music, the saxophone.

Colorful vegetables, flowers of all kinds, secret gardens, swings, hedgehogs, and parrots. Beloved pets, close family, friends — the type that lasts forever — and people who make everyone laugh.

“Jar-wrapped, the herb and tomato fruits from the lingering summer scald, ripe red with luscious wine-scent and lemon, heaving and round as life, heavy and fat.

Pick as I may the season’s last offering of scooped-out September banquet — that lingering prize and rosette-laden plot still offers succulent squash and blooms. The basil, holy, and cinnamon thrive among the fennel, edible flowers, and figs.

And sweet peas, sunchokes, and okra splash the landscape with nature’s board.” BW

An artist’s palette, scattered with color. A blank canvas, a blank page, and fresh stationery. Velvet, especially purple, blue, forest green, or deep red. Woodland, oak trees, dreams, and soft pillows.

Ducks that waddle, caterpillars — because of their potential — dragonflies, and moths. Stained glass and Tiffany lamps, yellow shoes, and bohemian art.

Crisp, corkscrew leaves of orange and gold that swoosh as you kick them and shuffle in their colorful carpet. Morning dew on emerald grass and dripping from tightly curled fern fronds. These ordinary things are life’s treasures.

Fulfilling relationships and closeness when you know someone really, really well. Love, wherever it appears, and laughter. Stability and having needs met count because they are strong foundations on which to build.

For me, happiness arises from the understanding I am the creator of my well-being and in control of my emotional state. Not relying on anyone else to make me happy brings the joy of freedom and independence.

“I take a mental snapshot of the day as it pours warmth on bare-skinned knees and let the beechnuts crunching underfoot, birdsong, and indigo fields rise to nestle inside the tiny locker of a brain region meant for wonders. Then I spy a butterfly-filled canopy flutter at the oak’s crown. So much to paste within, and hold tight, lest it slips into the abyss.” BW

Every occasion or being that inspires my happiness is filtered through my perception. Others reflect the thoughts I entertain most often. So, if I ever feel less than happy, I know the problem isn’t a lack of outside stimulus; I need to tweak my mindset. Knowing this contributes to my happiness. How about you?

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Bridget Webber is a writer and nature lover, often found in the woodland, meadow, and other wild places. She writes poetry and stories and pens psychology articles; her love of discovering what rests inside the thicket and the brain compels her to delve deep. She’s appeared in many leading publications and is the author of Nature Poems to Heal the Heart and Nurture the Soul.