Joy is finding, at the end of a difficult day, that the diamonds you've found in the dark are bright enough to comfort you.
It is knowing there are lovely moments left to gather, to make the world seem possible again.
The one who reminds you of this is the fox; a small russet darling, only two feet away, while you spoon out his food. He is unafraid to be alone with you, beneath the moonless sky. He lets you talk to him, and his gentle eyes observe you quizzically, as if to suggest you are the most curious and impractical thing he has ever seen.
You talk about your friends, who are the colours on a wide canvas. You tell him they make days more beautiful, even when you are afraid. Which you often are. You say the thought of would-be lovers keeps making you smile, and your eyebrows remember it. You add how much you wish sorrow, and all of his associates, would forget your name and the names of those you cherish. You speak of the people you witness being incredible everyday, and you wonder if they know quite who they are. Then you marvel at how it is the other humans who unfailingly make your heart glad to be keeping its own time.
You leave the little fox. You go back indoors, where you stand at the window to watch him eat, and for a second you think you know that the whole universe is always beaming itself through us, like a light through a prism. It explains why we can reach each other so completely, even from so many miles away; We are just fixed points between the travelling light of everything.