Prompt: The joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard, dies young - Anne Sexton 

So let me live forever by sharing the little joys - and by joys I don’t mean these beaming moments of bliss - but the in between. The small. The familiar. The pauses. The sighs. The slowly closing of eyes. 

Let me share with you the walk I take each day. The one where I wear the slip off shoes on purpose so when I see that patch of soft lush grass, I plant both bare feet there and let the cushion of Mother Earth consume me. 

Better yet, I let myself go limp and crumble onto the ground, splayed out like a starfish on some stranger’s front lawn. She laughs nervously “honeyyyy you can’t just lay on people’s front yards” 

“But I needed it and they don’t have a sense so it’s free game” I whine as our dog stands above me with her wrinkly towels hovering over my head. 

Let me share with you how I gasp when I see the tissue paper poppies bloom. How I take a selfie with the orange and yellow flower bush. 

How I have to stop at every iris and note how she is the sluttiest flower, just strutting her labias off like the freak Mother Nature is. 

Let me share with you how I rushed my walk yesterday, head down and eager to get home. Eager to do instead of see what’s around me. 

Let me tell you how I was stopped by our elderly neighbors, our adopted aunties, who made me sit in the yard with them, fed me homemade potato salad, asked questions slowly and shared nonchalantly how the garden boxes they just put together will outlast their time on earth. And hey giggled at that. And said “isn’t that a beautiful realization?”