Some very short stories

Under the beautiful Equestrian sky, Pinkie Pie laid stretched out on the grass. The sun was fading, casting its dying palette across the evening's exceptional arrangement of clouds. Gorgeous hues of blue and orange suffused them with a magical glow so brilliant, it seemed to tint the evening air and enchant the wind. Gusts of warm, humid wind rustled the trees and tickled the grass, and a contented Pinkie allowed it to wash over her languid body, drinking in its freshness and purity. Sweet odours from the Palace garden wafted on the wind across the countryside, soothing animals and filling homes with reassurance and comfort. The wind carried the joyful noise of fillies at play, the rough talk of workers relaxing together, the gossip of socialites, and the busy sounds of commerce; but above all, the wind carried the love that was incipient in every motion of nature, every caress shared between a mother and child, and every breath and heartbeat of every living creature.

It was the beginning of another Equestrian night.

Pinkie stood up, breaking her train of thought. Life in Equestria could be stressful at times, but it never provided any cause for suffering—any good cause, at any rate. Wonders without end were lying at her hooftips: a cause for joy in each flower that bloomed and in each tree that bore fruit. Every songbird was a masterpiece, every piece of candy was a triumph, and every rainbow was a sensation. The sensations of life—the sound of rushing water, of leaves rustling; the smell of apple pie or roasted almonds or carrot cake; a hug from a loved one; everything down to the very kinesthesia of motion—all screamed out in silent joy: "We are in love! In love with life!" And life in Equestria was, indeed, very good.

As she sauntered homeward, the joy that Pinkie had discovered in being grateful for life, the same joy that had inflamed her heart and mind for years, now carried her exuberant pony body in its characteristic bounds of barely-contained ecstasy.