Happiness is budding through the clay on a spring morning. If there were time-lapse photography, you’d see the stem emerge and grow into a white and golden bulb.

Happiness is knowing I know this story of when the seed was planted of it rolling around into the cracked dry clay sun beaming down.

Happiness is when the tiny flower emerged after some rain, many stars and a moon cycle.

Happiness is seeing this flower again and again pressed in my book, left over clay etched into a picture frame.

And happiness is for a mother that is so heavenly I confuse her with my own mother, this mother earth on a page in a book that says the “essence of an object remains, shining forth.”

Quote from Yoga Sutras of Pantanjali by Mukunda Stiles.