Thinking of joy: sometimes it is huge and shaggy, a golden dog of a feeling, lolling-tongued and a little stupid. Other times it is small, hardly detectable, recognized in hindsight, sneaking through the dark furrows of your harrowed soul, a little creature sleek and silver-furred, winking at you. Anxiety falls away, if for a moment, and you recognise your self at last.





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