Some days unfold without expectation,
Just the slow pleasure of being awake in my own life.
The day’s first light finds me
Its soft glow easing into the day with me.
The city still hushed
before remembering to be loud.
I used to think contentment needed grand gestures,
but these days, I find it tucked inside ordinary things.
The weight of a robe across my shoulders
The comforting embrace of my morning coffee’s nutty aroma.
A viennoiserie from the corner boulangerie
Tiny anchors, scattered across the hours –
Small but certain pieces of happiness.
Little joys rarely announce themselves
More often, they slip in quietly:
a sandwich toasted golden,
the scent of bread rising from the pan,
the soft salt of melting cheese,
the sun-bright tang of tomato on the tongue.
Hermann Hesse once wrote,
“these little joys are so inconspicuous and
scattered so liberally throughout our daily lives”.
But we often overlook them
in the haste of our distracted lives.
So I reach for the small comforts,
a handful of tea leaves, boiled water
just a quiet ritual to slow the afternoon down.
As evening folds inward,
The sky softens to a deep blue
I turn on the lights, light a candle.
There’s a kind of comfort in repetitionand familiar habits.
The book I’ve read before.
The blanket I always reach for.
And just before the day lets go,
the Eiffel Tower begins to sparkle.
It doesn’t ask for an audience.
But I watch anyway.
Because sometimes,
being here is its own kind of joy.