Happiness: daffodils and fire engines.

I wanted to share this sudden insight I had last night about the human condition, before: 

1) I realise how meaningless it possibly is or,

2) that it only applies to my human condition or worse,

3) before some confused, elderly Ukip reader stumbles upon this blog by mistake and unmasks me as not 'proper human, just Italian'.

I came back home from a long, complex, unresolved kind of a day, deep in thought about how unable I have been for some time to see my way through whatever the next stage if my life is.

On my doorstep I found this:

I immediately recognised it as a gift from my next door neighbour, for whom I had done a minuscule favour but at a time of slight crisis. The drawing is by her son, whose repertoire of fire engines is truly inexhaustible.

My heart opened up, totally involuntarily, like a mouth in a yawn, and I though: the ability to feel happiness - give or take dramatic events such wars and family deaths- must be part optimism, part the ability to accept consolation.

That's all I wanted to say. I warned you it was probably silly.


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