When I’m riding back from classes on my bike, down Routledge, past the colossal colonial architecture, the classical homes, and see a small yellow butterfly pacing me, fluttering, I find a kind of indescribable delight.  
When I’m strolling down King st in it’s most crowded state, and accidentally lock eyes with a random passerby without retreating my eyes down to the pavement, but instead smile and likewise evoke a smile, I find a small desire fulfilled.
When I am sitting at a bench in the park feasting on an over-stuffed pita, and behind me sit two homeless men, immediately their company rouses curiosity.  If they begin to chatter and exchange the going-on’s of their day, I indulge in my guilty pleasure of listening in and learning about these individuals.
When I sit alone at the end of a pier, I dip my fingers into the water just below and imagine the life teeming in the immediate area.  I admittedly feel a little silly, but I think about all of the strange and interesting creatures I’ve never seen, but are just feet away, and feel a “this-will-have-to-do” fulfillment.
When I walk through knee high grass and, feeling a strange itch on my ankle, stop and examine it, I enjoy finding a bug that I’ve never seen before, if I am able not to control myself from swiping it off in startled reflex.
When I am writing about nature, I often find my descriptions trite, my imagery colorless, and my word choice cliché.  When I am able to write one sentence of originality, one sentence that captures the scene I want to verbally recreate, I feel an immense pleasure of achievement, until the next sentence is drug out onto the page.
When I am walking out of the classroom and see that I have a missed call, the feeling of knowing I’ve been called is in itself elating, but also the mystery of who might be calling is additionally exciting.  In a short few seconds time span I run through a mental list of possible callers, and am simply delighted.
When I feel stress, pressure, grief, or anger I lie down on my large cushioned couch and listen to Bach.  In his arpeggios, his key changes, in his beautiful subtlety my negative emotions are wisped away as if by a light breath, and I lose myself in an immense, but delicate pleasure.
When I visit home on the occasional weekend and walk up to my door, ring the bell, and hear the eruption of barking from the excited old miniature poodle inside, I feel a certain pleasure in knowing exactly where I am.  When I step inside and that same dog has quit barking to jump up at my legs and lick my finger-tips, I feel a similar pleasure in knowing I was missed.
When I am watching any body of water from any location and a solitary boat happens to slowly cut its way through the water in front of me, leaving in it’s wake expanding V-shaped ripples, I consider the potential philosophical metaphors, the destination of the boat, the people in the boat, and find great pleasure in these musings.
When I am studying or working at my favorite coffee shop, with my head down toward the work, successfully blocking out the rest of the world, and just happen to peer up and see a familiar face a few tables over, I find a warm pleasure in knowing no matter how hard I try, I can never successfully block out the rest of the world.
When I am reading a poem and forget about the meaning of the poem, but read the words aloud and focus on the euphony of the words, the musical rhythm, the labial, dental, and velar variations, alliterations, and twisty syllable combinations, I find insignificant pleasure.
When I approach my chained-up bike, delve my hand down into the side pocket of my carrier-bag, probing around for my keys, and feel a rush of fear crash over my body as I realize they aren’t their, I receive a similar sweeping feeling of composure when I realize they are in my pants pocket.
When I am dreaming a structured dream, with a coherent line of progression, and suddenly wake up, I feel a drowsy annoyance.  If I fall back asleep and pick up the dream where the narrative was broken off, when I wake up once again I feel a temporary delight of completeness.
When I call a close friend, the kind of friend who puts up with all of your quirks, and hear the dispassionate voice of their voicemail, I feel a sense of defeat, until I decide to leave them a voicemail that runs as long as their service will allow me to ramble.  I find a strange amusement in this.
When it is the first Sunday in November and I forget to set my clocks back an hour, inevitably, I feel foolish when I arrive at appointments one hour early, but also greatly enjoy laughing at myself afterwards.  After this realization I purposefully forget to set my clocks back, so that when I awake the next morning to the severe ringing of my alarm clock, I descend into a lethargic nirvana remembering I have another hour to sleep.
When it has been a week since I have last cleaned my apartment, and march into the bathroom adequately equipped, I feel a slight disgust at the gunk build-up around the sink fixtures, but then delight in the cathartic activity of scrubbing it away.   I find pleasure in the accomplishment, but also in the clean, disinfected smell of the room as I leave.
When I am rummaging the cabinets and the pantry for any ingredient to make a decent dinner out of, feeling a slight sense of panic, and I find a jar of my favorite pasta sauce, I transition from the irrationalism to near-mania.
When I am in a casual conversation with another person and that person tells a ridiculous and corny pun, I smile and feel comforted in knowing I’m not alone in my appreciation for corny jokes.
When I reflect on myself as a person, my unique existence and trespass through this world, I often find it hard to move the monolithic road-blocks from my life’s path: up-coming assignments, my future career, my budget, family crises, my foolish mistakes.  All of the protruding imagery in my mental landscape catches my attention and I tend to focus my view on them, but I find a certain simple delight, an incommunicable pleasure, when I am able to look past the grand landmarks and see the beauty in the insignificant details of my life.   Without these details, just as any environ without the overlooked decomposers and other small, hidden creatures, my life would collapse on itself from the top down.