I recalled an intellectual happiness in college until
I saw a photo of the 20-something me,
plump, miserable and smiling a sorry smile.
Was I was unhappy then. Or did I have
a bad day when someone had a camera?
How do you measure happiness as it comes and goes?
A wind that sometimes sings and sometimes screams in with rain
Or a perfect flower that turns gangly overnight?
How do you measure happiness that changes?
A sidewalk that glows pink in the evening and turns hard in the noon glare
Or my own reflection – clear one day, clouded the next?
Reflections triggered by Women, if you're happy and you know it, Op Ed in the Boston Globe, Ellen Goodman
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