Gratitude Cries
Waking up with blanket wrinkles on your face
Packing lunch at seven in the morning.
Reading the New York Times on a ferry in the East River.
The first time a new thing feels old.
Having room on the drying rack for all the clean clothing.
Reheating a cup of tea two times.
Three.
The men who play bocce ball at the court in the park.
The opera music tumbling through the speaker.
The backdrop for frisbee dogs.
A child graduating.
One less wheel.
Making eye contact with a stranger.
Choosing to smile.
An organist. A clarinetist.
Learning to sit still.
Learning to listen.
The moon dipping beneath the tree line.
Changing leaves remind me of a landscape painting class I took in college.
The way I got paint all over a new pair of jeans upon first wear.
The way they instantly became art pants.
Opportunities to create.
A full pantry.
Clean bedding.
A favorite bowl for ice cream.
How fun it is to have a favorite sweatshirt.
What privilege it is to feel.