Ted was a serious person. He glowered and walked with his head down thinking serious thoughts. This was, after all, a serious world.
The happiness concept eluded him. He was content to be content. He valued gravitas, the weight of his contemplations. He had no time for jocularity.
Until Maria entered his life.
In the park, deep in thought, he never noticed her cavorting in the grass, twirling, arms outstretched, head tilted back.
One day she began singing in a beautiful, glorious voice. "The hills are alive with the sound of music. With songs they have sung for a thousand years."
Ted looked around. There were no hills anywhere.
Maria pranced over to him and dragged him onto the grassy area, singing all the while.
Before he realized it, he was spinning, dancing and singing along. At one point he tried to smile, but it hurt his cheeks.
Suddenly he pulled away from her in dismay. I cannot do this, he protested. It is destroying my train of thought.
No thoughts, just feeling, Maria responded. She had a strong grip and wrestled him to the ground where she pinned him until he surrendered. There they lay, staring up at a perfect blue sky, singing from their hearts, ebullience in the air.
Until a park ranger came and chased them off the grass.
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