Nature so often inspires me to write here, but sometimes, human-made creations make my heart leap. 

Case in point, a recent Sunday, when my husband and I took a walk along the canal in Lambertville, N.J. We had wandered off the main path, curious when we saw a runner veer toward a woodsy dirt road. 

Yes, I wanted to explore, but I was also keenly aware of the limits of a 64-year-old bladder. Not far off, we could see the glittering Delaware River between the trees. Then a squat brick building came into view, bearing a most welcome sign: 

 

Hallelujah! We continued the walk in comfort, rambling along the river bank before heading back into town for ice cream. 

Nature called; humankind answered.

Floating peonies

 Momentary joy.

In the wake of the unfathomable sorrow pouring out of Uvalde, Texas, joy may seem an unlikely thing to write about.

Or maybe it’s an essential thing to write about.

Over and over in my life – especially when carrying sorrow – I’ve learned that joy can be found in a moment … spotting a pair of blue jays flitting into our maple tree; listening to the rush of water in a woodsy creek; inhaling the scent of a caffe mocha; feeling the warmth of our cat settling into my lap; sharing those moments with someone I love.

Two Sundays back, my peonies out front were in astoundingly beautiful bloom. They literally stopped me in my tracks. By Monday, I saw they had already started to fade. After a wistful sigh I spotted them: fat, round peony buds, about to unfurl even more of those velvet, magenta petals.

In that moment, nature reminded me: Take in joy when you find it; understand that joy will fade; have faith it will come again.

The next day, sorrow came to Uvalde, and it can never truly leave.

But joy lives there, too.