If you’re looking for it, you might not find it.
For me, it hides in the pages of my notebook.
In the lilacs beginning to bud in March.
In the bald eagle I see soaring overhead at least once a week on my drive to work.
In whimsical latte art.
In Frances’s look of bliss as she kneads my bathrobe or her favorite blanket.
In the puffy tail Abby gives herself when she tries to scale the living room wall.
In my son’s helpless giggle when he’s watching slapstick comedy.
Joy hides in the unexpected, in serendipity, in moments and spaces I can’t plan for.
the dirigible plum 
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