Sloth
by Christian Donovan
Happiness is when the windscreen wipers cease screaming because the rain has stopped. It is when the sea tickles your toes. When bluetits raise their voices at dawn. A letter from your oldest friend flops onto the doormat. A film you’ve wanted to see comes on terrestrial tv. Happiness takes the shape of a chocolate croissant, still warm from the bakery where the fresh-out-of-the-oven aroma bested your diet. It’s when your dog noses you and the cat purrs on your lap. When you are drawn into the world of an unputdownable novel. When ponies on the common come to greet you. It is a child’s dance of joy in their frog-eyed boots. Happiness is an all-clear biopsy. Laughter in the bathroom. Mist hung above gravestones. When a song spun on the radio takes you back home. Wherever that is. Happiness is when you don’t tumble out of a tree. It is a two-toed sloth’s smile while he slow-scratches, and relief the tree still stands.
Christian Donovan retired about two years ago from work as a guide at Carew Castle in Pembrokeshire, Wales and now has more time to write. Previously she was a dairy farmer’s wife, a Welsh language tutor and cycling fanatic. She has had a scattering of poems published, mostly online.