I was on the front porch when you drove by and I waved having been chased all week by small joys, like the wonderful singing of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” at church Sunday, the happiness at 7:30 a.m. of little children in a school bus on Davie Avenue, the euphoria of a baby given his milk bottle in the waiting room of my ophthalmologist, and lunch with a friend, a brother by another mother, as we reminisced about growing up on a farm.