Joy

 *"There are certain mornings in the Hundred Acre Wood when everything feels a little more golden, as if the sun has taken extra care to spill its light over the flowers, the trees, and even the smallest of creatures. On such mornings, it seems that the world is not in a hurry, and neither are you.

Pooh stood quite still among the tall grass, his nose just brushing against the soft wings of a butterfly that had chosen him for its resting place. He smiled the kind of smile that comes when one remembers that happiness does not need to be chased—it often finds you when you are standing quietly enough to notice.

‘It’s a funny thing,’ Pooh thought, ‘how a butterfly is so very light that you can hardly feel it at all. And yet, somehow, it makes your whole self feel lighter just to have it near. Perhaps that is what joy is like—it doesn’t make a loud noise, or take up much space, but it changes everything all the same.’

And as the butterflies danced around him, drifting on the golden air, Pooh realized that the most wonderful treasures were not jars of honey or great adventures, but small, fleeting moments—tiny miracles that, once they landed in your heart, stayed there forever."*