Filled With Joy

When I consider myself to be filled with joy, the occasion is not always a huge extravaganza and it doesn't always require a large amount of work.  Sometimes, I'm filled with joy over simple things like doing something I love to do.  One of those simple times that I was filled with joy was last night.  I walked down the stairs and around the corner to a room which everyone calls the art room.  Of course, the room, being the art room in he house, is filled to the top with random "art supplies that my brother and I could use for school projects" (my dad) despite my parents efforts; I love it anyways.  My favorite "art supplies" in the room is actual art supplies in the shelves where the paints and canvases are.  Last night, I borrowed a few paints and took a canvas, opened up my sketchbook to plan what to paint, and then started to smear colors onto what was going to be a piece of "art."  This kind of joy is like butter that is left on a warm piece of toast, spreading quietly, smoothly, and without anyone noticing until someone bites the side of the toast and tastes it.  Another way to say this, is that I was filled with joy without needing to specifically identify it.