I heard them; they were upstairs, painting the walls while keeping an eye on the cricket. I don’t know what they were talking about, but the tone was clear; they were comfortable together as only a father and daughter can be. A thunderstorm broke and cut their conversation from my hearing, so I turned back to my kitchen and the Creedence song on the radio. The smell of the roasting peppers and garlic in the oven was heavenly. As I stirred wine into the sizzling onions on the stove it occurred to me that I am happy, content in a pure and almost primitive way.
Is it audacity to proclaim happiness when many others are so unhappy?