It’s always the small things. They make or break things. Relationships. Jobs. Moods. Two days ago, I was mourning my forlorn bird feeder. Then yesterday, by chance, I looked out to see two Carolina Chickadees, one on either side, eating. They were gone in a flash, but my heart got a bump. That small jolt of pleasure that comes from a sweet smile, a warm touch, or a lingering embrace. It set my emotional river on a different course.

This morning as I walked out to feed the cats and simply make sure the world was still there, I noticed new growth on the eve’s necklace, a nice spring tree. Tucked in behind one of the mountain laurels, I also saw that the Texas honeysuckle is fresh with leaves, and at the foot of the same laurel my salvia englemanni was back in the game with new leaves coming through the brown debris of last season’s growth.

I could go on. But it’s happening everywhere. The cold bleakness of the killer cold ravaged the landscape for sure and was enough to kill anyone’s joy. But the sap is rising, there’s a hard breeze from the south and spring is asserting itself, as only spring can, softly with flowers and leaves for shade and maybe a scent or two to further lighten the mood. I sense promise, and I’m going with that because happiness is mostly a choice you make as to where you choose to focus. There’s nothing I can do about the broken limbs and dead plants, but the tender sprig is all about tomorrow, and that’s where I’m looking.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale