The Start of a Process
She sat, staring at the tree in the corner of the room, wondering about the fake snow on its branches. She had chosen this tree, a symbol of change, and insisted it be put up on the very first day possible to make happiness flow into the room. “You can't force joy,” she thought, “but you can cultivate it. You can invite it.” Her husband put a warm mug of something down next to her...tea? Had she asked for it? Probably. She couldn't keep track of the passage of time so accurately recently. Her husband's kindness and caution sat with the cup on the coffee stained arm of the couch, and his...nervous? Frustrated? His energy was bouncing out of the kitchen with the clatter of the washing up, a video on in the background to cover up the odd weight in the living room that was his wife's confusion. She was muddled. And she took a sip of the reassuring drink, (ah, tea), and felt care pour down her throat, and wished she knew how to be more receptive. So she said “Thank you