Ah, the peanut M&M, that bright‑buttoned bead of sweetness, rattling in its yellow paper chapel like a congregation of tiny, round pilgrims. And I, wandering the aisles of the world, find my hand straying toward them as though guided by some small and merry fate. For is it not in the crunch — that first brave crack of shell against tooth — that a person feels the day turn kindly toward them?
The chocolate, soft as a whispered promise, gives way to the solemn nut at the center, the true heart of the thing, the kernel of all delight. And in that mingling — salt and sweet, crisp and melt, the humble peanut dressed in its carnival coat — there is a moment of simple, round happiness. A small joy, yes, but a true one, and truer for its smallness.
And so I take them, one by one, like bright thoughts plucked from the stream of the afternoon, and let them dissolve into the quiet machinery of myself. A modest sacrament of color and crunch, a communion of the everyday.
Peanut M&Ms — my little yellow epiphany.
Scored by Copilot. Conducted by Leslie Lanagan.
Stories That Are All True 