One day I noticed some posts coming onto my Instagram feed about things to do for the month. I would save them in a bookmark folder I created called Months. Maybe I would do a few during the month. A couple months ago there were a bunch of
joy
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On Sunday, I wrote about Little Delights. On Monday, my day turned into one obligation after another. I had on my list to read my novel outside, but by the time I was able to it was dark. This morning I was complaining about it in my journal and
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I saw an older gentleman with a long, flowing, grey beard running as I walked along the beach. Joy was on his face reaching his eyes, unlike most of the runners who looked cranky and like they were about to pass out. Usually they just grunt as
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