On the day that the chickens just up and crossed the road without their motives being questioned at all,
the whole crazy grace of everything just stretched,
down the backroads and sideroads and gravel roads,
and really, the joy is in the journey because the moments build the destination.
Leaves fell soundless. A team of clydesdales hauled the pumpkin wagon. Sheep listened.
And it’s true, it’s like you could hear it — joy, it’s often apt to be silent, lodged in the still places.
If joy isn’t to be had in this season, then why think it comes in another season?
Joy isn’t ever in a season but in the way we see. Grace and mercy saturate everything.
At the end of the lane, before you turn the corner, right there where they sell eggs,
if you looked back at the horses and the boys and the wagons,
if you stilled long enough and inhaled the woods and the hay and the autumn day,
it all seemed ridiculously simple —
In hurrying for more happiness, you can hurry right past it.
The horses hooves all down the road sounded like this applause of the slow and fully awake.
Day 11: Catch the whole 31 Days to Crazy Joy series right here