Quiet Joy
Ilse has been industriously emptying the plastics drawer and towel drawer, carefully strewing the contents of both evenly around the kitchen.
But when I glance her direction, she has ceased her labors. She sits, still and intent, on the cluttered floor. A look of quiet joy is in her wide eyes.
She avoids my glance. My finger sweeps her mouth in an instant.
A single chocolate chip. Milk chocolate, no doubt.
Quiet joy, pure bliss.
Deprived, she studiously begins opening whatever else she can in the kitchen. Her quest has begun. She now knows the true point to her mission. There must be another small piece of small bliss in some dark recess or nook.
