It must be the weather, but we are having some serious surfeit of joy around here today. It's hard to describe without audio, because no one has said anything particularly cute. No one is doing something particularly sweet. And yet... Walking up the sidewalk, two in the double stroller, three hanging on alongside. One in the stroller says, "Aaargh!!", his voice raw and husky, then tips his head back laughing. The one walking on the right screams with laughter in return. The two on the left whoop and holler, and the other in the stroller bounds in her seat, so the squeaking of springs joins the general bedlam of joy. We stop to romp in an open field by the river, not far from my house. Everyone set loose, they run in shrieking, giggling loops across the grass. One will deliberately body check another, the two go down in the leaves, and the gales of giggles echo off the houses across the street. A neighbour cat joins us, and five shrieking children swoop round his trotting black form. Cat leaps effortlessly onto a tree branch, and five upturned faces beam the sunshine back up at him. They exude joy, these little ones. It's something like a reverse tantrum: During a tantrum, their little bodies burn with outrage and fury; now they are charged with delight. Laughter for no reason. Glee for its own sake. An excess of passionate energy that is nothing other than sheer, unadulterated, sparkling joy of life.