Gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
—G.K. Chesterton
Standing in the field of golden blooms
it is easy to feel happiness. So bright,
after all, and such an abundance! Oh yellow!
Yellow all nodding and splayed! And then, well, happy
of course, because it is not my yard, and dandelions
are undeniably weeds. You know, the rubbery leaves.
The way they squeak underfoot when you walk.
The way that after a week or two they turn into gray seed
and proliferate successfully, as weeds do. It’s harder then,
once all the white wishes are spent and the hollow
stems stand naked and dull, harder to believe
that the pilgrims brought them to this land on purpose.
So many things are just this way—vibrant
for such a short season. But don’t fast forward. Admire
how they grow almost everywhere, from the Arctic Circle
to sub-Antarctica. That alone is cause for wonder.
Today, couple wonder with gold, miles and miles
of golden sway, and that, my friends,
makes for this curious tide of gratitude that rises
out of who knows where in the body and makes us want
to run out into the field and become the field
and wade in the gold and weave ourselves into the current.
Who could believe in a clock? Who could believe
there is anything to do in this moment but meet it and play?
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