Sometimes good things happen
where you least expect them, like when you mix reheated leftover buckwheat groats
with peanut butter—because that’s all you had in the fridge—and discover
that not only is it edible, but it’s actually delicious; or when you read an essay by Mark Twain
with no particular expectations only to notice with amusement that it’s dated
to the early 1990s; or when you open the curtains and pause for a moment, mesmerised
by the dance of light and shadow on the wall of your study, caused by the sunlight
reflecting off the windows of the ramshackle across the street.
Sometimes good things happen
as the trinkets of the day.
hidden pilcrow 