Joy visits in fleeting moments.
If only Rachel could capture it, bottle it, 
hold it in her hands forever, but she couldn't. 
She tried when she was four,
and a cloud of colourful bubbles blew into her face.
She caught, one or two, maybe even three. 
But when she opened her hand, they were gone.
She tried again when she was six,
and a pretty butterfly flew past her nose. 
But when she opened her hand 
its wings were crushed and it was not pretty anymore.
So Rachel had given up, trying to keep joy a prisoner.
Instead she just watched it soar.
Like a beautiful bird on a calm wind, and she soared with it.
Hitching a ride on its wings.
It felt like walking on sunshine, forever.