I stood for a moment in complete silence broken only by the note of a song bird and the susurration of the breeze in the wayside grasses. It was one of those moments of happiness and contentment which give reality to death, since however long we have to live, there are never enough springs.
—P.D. James, A Time To Be In Earnest
This week I want merely to pose a question.
Why do the greatest pleasures tend to be so simple? A touch. A taste. The murmuring wind. An evening spent reading with one's cat. Having worked so hard to complicate our lives, why do we delight in the inelaborate?
Share your thoughts below. Next week: a provisional answer.