It’s the light.
The light that allows the snow to appear.
Like a magic trick that a magician performs, he pulls flowers right out of his coat pocket, or pulls a bunny out of a hat, and you wonder…how do they do it?
They make things appear and so can we, but in our own ways.
Tell it.
We all have marks, we all have scars, we all have something that the world has given us, make it visible.

The “left, right, left, right,” steps that allow the light to flash on that house that you pass from a story that you were told.
We all have a story,
a story that is sometimes hidden,
a story that is revealed with no self-doubt, no insecurities, it is a story that is shown in confidence.
A story confides in love, depression, anger, and brings a conveying meaning of happiness.

A spark and mark of life, merriment, joy, and pleasure is something that makes you wipe out all the bad things,
it gives you the feeling of relief, it gives you that feeling.
You’ll know what I mean when you just know.

Now, my mark of happiness is where the Pennsylvania American Hornbeam and Pine trees skyrocket into the sky, they meet the stars.
To me it resembles calmness, peace, and clarity.
It is like a getaway from the big city, the anxiety, all problems.
As you drive down the swerved road, you go up down, then up, and down again, you come across a house.
A house that isn’t gated, or fancy, or pristine.
Not the ones that you see in one of those rich people movies.
It’s the house that is open, clear, and bare.
This place has a family history, it seizes stories, and it all lies in one place.
I never knew that one place, one thing, can make someone feel the richness of being happy.

Published By: Ariana N.B.