Happy Place
By Nancy Whiting, Kenai
When asked where is my ‘happy place’
I thought I did not know.
It could be doing needlework
or snowshoeing through the snow.
With books upon books I found it,
helping the library get in place;
Moving, stacking on the shelf,
to change from case to case.
I worked alone among the stories,
sorting the children’s section.
For letters “N” through “C”
I have some real affection.
A job well done as requested,
books are in their places proper.
The time that follows I discover
the thing that is the topper.
Stamp the address, stamp the date,
affix the barcode, then protect.
Stamp the address, stamp the date,
affix the barcode, then protect.
Repetition in working details
is where I find myself.
Order brought from disarray
like lining books upon a shelf.
My ‘happy place’ is not the room,
and it’s not chaos control;
It’s that quiet concentration
I find in play, work, or a stroll.
It matters not the place I be,
It’s not important what I do.
My happy place is in my mind;
I think I always knew.
