How do you write about the condition of joy? In present

participles, I guess. Not fun, nor merriment, nor yet a state of optimism:
simple joy, persisting through an afternoon. It

is as though the dusty world has been suddenly cleansed

of all worry, all shadow of pain or loss. In a moment of

benignity or absentmindedness, St Michael has thrown the gates of Eden wide
open. The verbs have no direct objects.

Windows give onto sheer pastoral, onto that soothing excess

of green pigmentation and fretwork foliage. Cloud and

drizzle cease to be part of our company. Over the dark wine

we laugh like immortals. This table is Olympus; it has become the Great Good
Place. A condition like this can be

described as erotic, yet it utterly transcends the sexual. As

an impression, everybody near at hand is suddenly, quietly,

laughing. Our smiles are solar. The shiraz winks at us. So

this is joy, nor am I out of it. Even the clock appears to have

forgotten us. And now the sun surveys everything from its

low, picturesque angle. Time out.