"What a pretty day!" I comment to my husband, every time we're together in the car. It's a new thing, a new feeling, a new appreciation of the beauty of each day.
Sunshine? "What a pretty day!"
Fog? "What a pretty day!"
Autumn colors? "What a pretty day!"
Cold drizzle? "What a pretty day!"
I just can't stop seeing the beauty in the world. I love the mysterious changes fog brings as it shrouds familiar scenery, hiding some features and highlighting others. I'm thrilled by the unique colors of each season, so lately I've been rejoicing in autumn's palette. I dance in my heart as the sun bathes my world and me in its light and warmth. I'm enlivened by the pinprick tickles of mist and drizzle, and I smile at the drops on the windows as if I'm receiving friends at the door.
I suppose I'm like a child in Robert Louis Stevenson's garden of verse. I know I often think of myself as being in a garden; certainly my "world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings." If Abraham Lincoln was right, "most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." I guess I've made up my mind to see the fun and the sparkle, even in dark times, and yes, I'm happy, maybe as happy as a king - even when I'm sad.
"Roses and thorns," my mother would say. The flowers and the thorns are on the same bush. We have to decide which we'll notice. If we want roses, they come with thorns. Brilliant, graceful, fragrant flowers alongside fiercely pointed thorns. Some people talk about thorns all day and forget about the blossoms. My mother and I try to appreciate the blooms and steer clear of the thorns, even though we know they're there.
I guess "everything's coming up roses" for me. What a pretty day!