My good mood isn't bright sun, yet the kind of rays that awaken the colours of the day at dawn. It's a soft happy vibe, gentle and steady.
This good mood is a hovercraft that stays a foot above neutral. I'm there all the time. I'm not high, not low, just happy feeling that bit elevated.
In good moods a writer may paint words that are fine wine and soft music; words that contain more healing medicine than all the drugs created by man. They are clear water over rocks, a shelter in any storm. They are food for the soul of every flower of the light. So I vow to only write what is right, inspired by the golden illumination of a sun that never dies. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword, for a pen can weave love; a pen can bring the cleansing rain of hope; a pen can speak words so sublime as to last all the ages of man.
Paul smiled as usual, "You want to know how to always be in a good mood? Simple. Cut yourself off from "the news," don't watch things that scare you and surround yourself with caring and positive people. Do something you love, even if it's not how you earn your keep. Try to make a positive difference in the world. Care. Really care about others and the planet. Then you'll feel good inside and have a wonderful environment. Not so simple? Sure it is. Maybe not when you're a child, but it's quite doable for an adult. Choose your friends wisely and hang in there, it only gets better.
In the brilliant light of May I can't even see the glass. The sun streams in like a flamboyant guest, not waiting for an invitation. No longer can I see the white vinyl frame, just the shape. I think this window is what sold me on the house, it's like an arched doorway: low to the ground and reaching high to the ceiling. Perhaps sun-bleaching of the floors and couch should concern me, but it doesn't. The rays warm the couch and lift me to notions of gardening and walking the dog. I know he needs it, I think we both do.
...After a few more trades we head for home. Somehow now he is light again. As he munches his bread he makes “mmm,mmmm,mmmm” noises and instead of being irritated I am surprised to find it makes me almost grin. The crumbs make a trail down my sweater on their way to the ground and somehow this is OK with me. I chalk it up to knowing he’ll be going soon. Frankie is going to fall in love with him tomorrow and life goes back to normal...
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by daisy.
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