Sometimes I feel as though I'm forever chasing after happiness.
I chase it clickety-click across the internet, I search for it miserably in garishly bright shops, I chase it with lists and plans and unachievable dreams, and yet somehow it seems to flutter away from me, like the leaves that wind their own way from the trees and land far from my outstretched hands.
But John's happiness is instinctive and easy.
He doesn't chase the leaves that are still fluttering through the air just beyond his reach, but sees the beautiful golden ones that are already nestled about his feet.
He picks them up and treasures them.
He smiles because he's happy.