Happiness is like catching a wind-blown leaf from an oak tree,
in the crisp Autumn,
when we were young.

The leaf dances lightly through the air,
tracing a path all of its own,
soaring to places we can not foresee.

And as we follow it, blindly,
it seems almost to smile down upon us,
wisely,
benevolently,
understandingly,
knowing our mad struggles to catch it.

Finally,
when we have chased it for an eternity,
when we can reach out our expecting fingertips and grasp it,
it is beautiful,
lying peacefully in the palm of our hand,
and ephemeral,
blown soon away by the everflowing current of life.

But in those fleeting moments,
those moments of ecstasy and tears of joy and blissful understanding,
we are free.