How I Would Paint Happiness
Something sudden, a windfall,
a meteor shower. No—
a flowering tree releasing
all its blossoms at once,
and the one standing beneath it
unexpectedly robed in bloom,
transformed into a stranger
too beautiful to touch.
by Lisel Mueller, from Imaginary Paintings
Today I briefly sat under this tree, the wind was blowing steadily, and I found a pink blossom that fell on the grass. I tucked it between the pages of a beloved book, and left because it was starting to get too cold. Then I went to a coffee shop nearby and had hot apple cider, while writing a letter to a friend who lives in Amsterdam.
Is it possible to miss a place you've never been? Because I feel that way about Amsterdam, and other cities I've known only through books.
Poem taken from The Paris Review, Issue No. 124, Fall 1992