Finding joy

At a recent gathering of the writers circle I belong to we were set the task of spontaneously writing down the things we find joy in. The results were revealing, giving us space and time to think about the things that make us really happy - a heart-warming task worth trying, especially on a rainy day like today!

I find joy in the early morning city streets, in the sunlit pavements, in the quirky shops in quiet backstreets, the cafes where sleepy passers-by sip cappucinos and plan their day. I find joy in the tall, white gracious embassy buildings, hiding their secrets, the untold stories of a thousand expats, each with their own histories, living in this bustling, surprising city.

I find joy in companionship. I find joy in the exchange of gossip, of individual lives lived in such a variety of ways. So many expressions of life.

I find joy in the sharing of our creativity. So many angles and perspectives. So many ways of saying the same thing. We experience life and death, sickness and health, friendship and alienation, joy and grief and our history, in so many ways, is the same - and yet differently expressed. I find joy in that.

I find joy in my garden. That is no secret. This year I have found joy in an abundance of blossom. It is a good year for blossom - I find joy in that. I find joy sitting in my garden, on the little terrace outside my back door, with the sun overhead, pouring its warmth and blessings on my little garden. I find joy in frothy, white hydrangea blossoms, yellow roses, perfectly formed, tall, slender foxgloves opening up their patterned trumpet flowers to soft, velvety bees. I find joy in that.

Joy can be a mindset - or not. I must work a little to find joy. There can be hindrances, sickness, griefs and irritations of all kinds so I must find my joy. I must choose to make time for it.

                                 Delft Blues

                                 Under the shade of a tall, willowy poplar

                                 I lay down to rest.

                                 The water drifted lazily by me

                                 And I slept.

                                 The rustle of the leaves and the rippling of water

                                 Mingled with my dreams.

                                 The blackbird sang in the tops of the trees,

                                 Drew my attention.

                                 ‘Rest here awhile in peace’ whispered the poplar,

                                 It seemed to me.

                                 ‘Slow down, slow down’ bubbled the stream,

                                 ‘No need to rush.’

                                 The blackbird called from the tops of the trees:

                                 ‘Make time to be joyful!’

                                 And under the shade of the willowy poplar

                                 I smiled and was at peace.