but the snow kept falling outside his window. The towns and cities grew closer and closer together and the furrowed fields grewsparser and sparser but the veil of snow remained the same.
He was beginning to read the last flash fiction story and returned his eyes to the white pages with the black lines of words like the fields of snow just past the peripheral vision of his right eye . . . "Happiness replied that she was there all along; going down the road to school, to friends, to parties, to parents. Happiness replied that she and her sister Sadness travel hand in hand. That's life. That's living but certainly not Sorrow . . . for many years Happiness takes over her life and she is seen smiling in a photograph beside a lake tucked away in an album somewhere seeking memories of Happiness and Sadness . . . lean on me from now on said Happiness for I am in the harbors and the small towns, distant cities and even on our street, in your room, and in your heart. Happiness said I am here when you rise and when you sleep. I am the only one here for you now. Certainly not Sorrow . . ."
The bus rolled past Mississauga and Brampton and now all the fields of cold snow were gone. All the lines of trees and shrubs and fields were gone and replaced with more asphalt and green signs and yellow street lights. He put the book back in his carry-on suitcase and stared out the window as the bus rounded the 427 curves to the QEW and headed toward the bus station in Toronto.
She closed the patio door. She thought about getting dressed, turned slowly to the right and entered the small living room and sat on the edge of the couch in the warm room. She reached over and turned on the light which sat
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