Happiness is reading your son a poem...
by Raymond Carver. And he actually stood still
long enough to hear the whole
thing.
Happiness
So
early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near
the window with coffee,
and the usual early
morning stuff
that passes for
thought.
When I see the boy and his
friend
walking up the
road
to deliver the
newspaper.
They wear caps and
sweaters,
and the one boy has a bag over his
shoulder.
They are so
happy
they aren't saying anything, these
boys.
I think if they could, they would
take
each other's
arm.
It's early in the
morning,
and they are doing this thing
together.
They come on,
slowly.
They sky is taking on
light,
though the moon still hangs pale over
the water.
Such beauty that for a
minute
death and ambition, even
love,
doesn't enter into
this.
Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly.
And goes beyond, really,
any early morning
talk about it.
Posted: Wed - February 15, 2006 at 09:16 PM