20 Years, by The Civil Wars

She leaned against the sink to peel potatoes, cut her thumb and didn't mind. The blood was part of the simplicity of it; made sense against the orange of the carrots and the beans' bright green. She might be living out west, two hundred hears ago, in love with a cowboy and wearing a cotton skirt. The Civil Wars wouldn't be on CD, they'd be her brother and sister, with rhythm in their shirt sleeves and blues in their souls.
But this is 2012 and they have plasters for that. She has a dissertation to prepare. She has a thyroid problem and a lazy eye.
And yet it doesn't seem to matter...
This is what happiness feels like.