Through hard days, we learn to be happy with the little things.

The scale of what registers changes without permission. A month into something bad, a hot shower can carry a weight it never had to carry before.

That isn't a downgrade in taste. It's a lens shortening. When the far distance is unreadable, the eye works with what's near.

The tea at the right temperature. A seat on a full train. A song arriving on shuffle at the one moment it could have helped.

Nobody would choose the conditions that made the small things loud. The loudness is real while it lasts, and it costs nothing to let it count.