An Inventory of What Remains

Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.

The word that holds me is still. Not all the beauty, not the beauty that was, but what remains after loss has taken its share. Attention, this morning, can be as small as the weight of a cup in two hands, or the sound your own breath makes before the day asks anything of you. Happiness here is not a mood to manufacture. It is an inventory, taken slowly, of what stayed.