Speak of all the ordinary kinds of happiness, the sort akin to peace:
To walk under heavy branches of bougainvillea beneath a cloud-clotted sky,
To be going homeward after a good day,
To the station, down the pitted side-street before the brewery, edged with riot-run fig trees and jasmine;
To pass all the ordinary people, just like me – every possible shade of ordinary – and we smile and nod and greet as we pass;
To have washed into this place on the back of a terrible storm, not knowing whether – somewhere – another tsunami is brewing,
But to know, at this moment, one is in a safe harbour:
This is an extraordinary happiness, and to recognise it is like riches.