Five Years a Writer

Posy bright and sweet Quiet presence hidden scent Pleasing memory The other day, a friend brought me a posy of sweet peas from her sister’s garden. The scent emanating from those small, beautiful flowers almost knocked me over: sweet, rich, unmistakable. I placed the posy in a small vase and put it on the kitchen windowsill. That evening, while I was making supper, that scent wafted its way to me and, for a moment, I felt pure pleasure at the beauty and the bounty of nature represented by that small posy. Pleasure. Smaller than happiness, bigger than fine, just right for this moment that came to me on the air.  The root of the word goes back to Middle English (plesir) and Old French (plaisir) meaning ‘please’ — as in, to please someone. Usually someone else, but sometimes ourself (in any way, in every way). The feeling of pleasure is maybe fleeting but the memory of that pleasure can linger long past the moment itself. May your days be marked by sweet, rich, unmistakable pleasure and