(no subject)

Darks sparkle.
Suns burn.
Earths spin.
Clouds clump.
Seas pull.
Trees taper.
Birds look.
People walk.

It's not that the language of happiness is not a language.

Or that the happy don't bother to speak.

But that they like talking about other things.

Otherer others, thingier things, abouter abouts.

Rarely in this overflowing outflow some glance of attention reflects back on the happy self's self.

But when it is it's like this:

Seeing the other worker, the better worker, busy in the nicer place.

At rest surveying what's left to do.

Noticing you noticing.

Waving just once.

But with a hand moving through something thicker than air.

As quick as though moving through air only by force of decision.

A mattering wave.

Where to see how it's done is to see that it's you who's doing it.

The person that we would be's always there.

Too active to remember to attract one's own attention.