Happiness Machine

Monday, November 1, 2010     Julia is thirteen years old.

Yesterday began at 29 degrees--cold enough to coat windshields with ice with an attitude.  By afternoon the sun banished any hint of autumn chill.  On my lunch hour from work I invited my teenage daughter to join me on a late after-noon walk.  She readily agreed, so we set off together on our usual route.

We walk a block out of our little neighborhood to the main road.  We are on the outskirts of town so after walking past several homes with large yards we come to large barns surrounded by heavy farm equipment.  We pass a small corral which is home to two horses and sometimes some goats.  The road becomes a small incline.  There are no sidewalks here.  We pass a large ditch which always has water in it.  We cross a busier access road.  This is our favorite part of the walk. 

Julia stopped us here and said that her happiness machine would include this moment.  To the east we could see uphill in the distance past acres of fields the neighborhood where we lived the previous three years and the temple just to the north.  The sky was blue with little white cotton-puff clouds hovering about.  We turned and looked west where very far off are low mountain ranges.  We listened to the stillness, and then to a solitary car passing.  We noticed the delicate breeze.  We absorbed the autumn colors and textures -- the various trees that line the road, converging in the distance.  There is a round silo with a funnel-like roof that is a perfect contrast to the many bales of hay stack behind it.