The Secret to Happiness

As I type this, sitting at my dining room table looking West, the clouds are rushing north over the Olympic Peninsula.  Grey trotting dogs, dark leaping cats, pink and blue glowing behind them.  The Brothers and Hurricane Ridge shown when dark horse head clouds choose to reveal them.

My wide front windows change at each moment, the two-hundred-year-old Hemlocks and Douglas' across the street indifferent; my little eighty-year-old house unnoticed, unimportant.

My fat tabby, pawing at the keyboard.  Twelve years old.  Happy for now but if I don't wait on him soon he'll bite my hair.

The clouds are thickening and now there's little to be seen - at least, what you may expect to see.

I hate to reveal the secret to happiness, because really - if you don't learn it yourself it has little worth.

But here is a hint:  It is not having what you want.