The Scent of Happiness

A teenager showing how we can all be happy about the little things in life.

The Scent of Happiness

It’s a Saturday morning in the mountains of West Virginia.  It must be seven in the morning or so, I don’t really know.  I’m lying under an old a tree not far from my house, with the morning sun gleaming through the gaps of each individual leaf.  This morning like most, didn’t involve cleaning out the shed, washing the barn, or even taking out the trash, which happens every two weeks.  I just lie there under that old tree with the sun flickering in front of my closed eyes, and listening to the wind rustling every inch of grass. 

With a startle wakening I heard my mother’s voice calling out to me.  My name, Christopher or Chris to be short, and I am 16 years of age.  With dark brown hair, chestnut color eyes, and a facial complexion of the cartoon character, Charlie Brown, that in which I have been told.  Anyways, as I push off the tree to help me up off the soften ground I heard my mother calling out to me once again.  This time I didn’t hesitate as I smell the fresh scent of scramble eggs, and what must have been sausages.  I rushed about a 100 feet to the front steps of the oddly shaped house.  With its rectangular front, and back, but a very wide squared on both sides of the house makes it look like it could tip over any second.  It might not be the biggest house in the world, but it sure is a comfortable and heartwarming place to be in. 

As I entered the small dining room my mother, Joyce had already put down the plates on the table which only fit about three people.  There I sat awaiting the sound of fresh scrambled eggs sliding onto my plate.  I am the only person eating this morning, because my father sleeps in late due to his work, and my 8 year old sister, Alex doesn’t eat in the dining room she rather sit on the floor of the living room watching her Saturday morning cartoons.  So I sat there auspiciously eating my scrambled eggs, and sausages knowing my day have just begun.

It must be thirty-five minutes after seven or so, at this time the bakery under the hill on which we lived were opening.  The updraft wind sweeps up the smell of that heavenly scent which you only get when you open the door to a bakery.  I fumbled through the chairs just to lift up the window, and let the fresh scent circumfuse the kitchen.  After breakfast I tend to my chores first of which was to bring in the clean clothes which our family leave to dry hang over night.  After taking in our laundry, I squandered back into my room.  The low bed overlooking the small town underneath, and the ocean in the distance, and there I stood behind the closed door.  I stripped my body down, not to give a window show to the couple hundred people underneath.  But to free myself from the hardships of regular life, just like the feeling our ancestors felt after the battle of Yorktown.  The freedom overwhelms my very soul, as I put on the newly fresh clothes which I had brought in from last night.  There and then a newly independence was created.  My dirty skin exfoliates, and I am in bliss.

It is now twenty past eight; I sat on my low bed staring out at the calm waters in the distance, with the windows open as I let the wind in my hair, the sun on my skin, and the light smell of salt in the air.  I looked down to see my dad cutting the overgrown grass, and weeds of the back lawn.  With every forward motion blades of grass comes shooting out in all directions.  This violent, but yet so beautiful depiction of life reminded me of a baby.  A baby who grew up into a young man, and then the parent watches him from a distance leaving in search of life aspirations, or just for love.

I must have fallen asleep as I woke up to the charring sun against my skin.  It is now eleven after one, and I ran downstairs to greet my sister Alex.  Then rushed out of the door, and to the tree which I lie under that morning.  At around this time the town bellow our lonely house is booming, and rushing like a fish migration.  People coming out of the bakery, and onto the grocery for fresh vegetables, and suddenly I felt so tyrannical.  Like a queen overlooking her ants, but I have no control over these people, and that is a true democratic feeling. 

I lied there for the rest of the day.  Happiness can be elusive; we find it knocking on our doors.  Then to wave it goodbye just as quick, and then we go in search of it again.  Happiness can be found in the depths of poverty, but not in the richest of homes.  It can be made, just to be torn down, and we build it right back up.  Happiness can be in the form of a picture, or a piece of bread.  We can all find happiness within our lives, whether that is in eating our morning breakfast, or putting on a fresh pair of trousers.  We define our happiness, and to let others do it for us we would only live in a life of despair.  Finally, the sun has dipped lower, and the leaves no longer shielded my eyes from the sun.  I helped myself up off the ground, and walked back into that flimsy, but heartwarming house.

Reviews

[VS115]

I haven't written in a while, it took me about an hour and a half to write this. Hope it teaches us all that happiness can be found all around us. Also any criticism would be great. Thanks again.