Small moments of bliss

In the midst of long and sometimes challenging days, I find small moments of bliss.

Yesterday morning, for instance, I looked around my car following a school and daycare drop off and found myself alone. All alone. Not a single passenger for the whole 15-minute drive to work. I mean, that is bliss.

On another day, I closed my eyes in the middle of a crowded playground and listened to the music a bunch of happy kids made as they scampered around on a warm spring day. This is bliss, I thought. And then I opened my eyes and had to find my charges, who had disappeared up a tall hill and into the nearby woods. So, it was just a moment.

But, still, such bliss!

I find bliss in the first bite of a juicy, honeycrisp apple; in my tiny granddaughter’s increasingly mischievous grin; in the cool comfort of freshly washed sheets; in the freshly bathed scent of a jammied up and nearly asleep little person; in a brisk, long, chatty walk with a friend.

Bliss comes in small things, like really good chocolate and fresh sugar snap peas, and in large things, like dining room tables full of people I love.

Sometimes, it seeps in slowly like a sunset, and other times it pops up unexpectedly like the plump kernels of corn my husband shook and salted on an ordinary evening after everyone else had gone to bed.

Bliss is the perfect juxtaposition of laughter and peace; of sore muscles and a grateful heart; of silent prayer and soulful community; of cool water and hot sunshine; of live music and quiet appreciation; of fast rivers and slow afternoons.

Bliss is straight talk and a clever turn of phrase; first steps and last exams; a fresh picked strawberry and a fat harvest moon.

I find small moments of bliss in nearly every day and I hope you find some today too.