Gratitude Practice

I’m grateful for my daughters
I’m grateful for my dog

I’m grateful for my home, my health, my job

That’s easy gratitude, that’s a constant, a given

Let’s go deeper into gratitude 

I’m grateful for my mistakes 

I’m grateful for my hardships 

I’m grateful for pain and suffering and darkness 

That’s better, flip side, but still too broad

Let’s niche down

Get really specific 

I’m grateful for the sunrise. First light, before it breaks the horizon line, when colors are still muted, waiting for rays of golden sunshine to reveal their splendor, when there is an anxious stillness preceding the imminent explosion of life all around me, when nothing is more important than greeting the day and honoring all of its potential. 

I’m grateful for dew kissed blades of grass where tiny toads shelter in July summer heat, hopping away in perfect sync and in every direction whenever the dog bounds into the yard—her nose not nearly quick enough for so many little jumpers. It’s a daily ritual that never fails to make me smile. 

I’m grateful for the beautiful owl feather I found recently, a little damp, easy to miss, but I knew instantly when I picked it up that it was special. Wispy, downy, nearly translucent, so unique in its appearance: long and wide, a base of light brownish amber with darker brown stripes and a shock of white through the center. It is magnificent and truly a gift from Uju. 

Yes. This is gratitude, life changing. 

Step into the fullness of your gratitude, this moment—indeed, you can begin right now! Practice this, every day and watch miracles unfold. 

Love Eternal

 

"Are you ready, my love?" he asked softly.

She opened her heavy lidded eyes, lashes damp against the rough cotton pillow, the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Yes," she whispered, closed her tired eyes and nodded imperceptibly.

"Then, let's go," he said, gently taking her hand. "Wait'll you see the view!"

Author's Note

I love a writer's prompt with a image. This one asked for a poem. Love, in all its forms, is poetry. This scene instantly came to mind—a husband, passed, comes to collect his beloved in her final moment. Free from their earthly confines, they take a stroll among the stars. 

I hope you enjoy. How would you interpret this picture? Drop a comment, or poem below!

These Venerable Woods

The crows’ caw at dawn drags me from my half awake haze. Just five more minutes, I whisper. As if on cue, their anisodactyl feet begin an impatient march across the roof while they wait for peanuts. 

The morning air is thick with humidity, cicadas drone from every unseen nook and cranny in these venerable woods. At night the tree frogs, crickets and katydids take the baton in this never ending symphony. Unmannered raccoons crashed the bird feeders overnight, tossing everything like a SWAT team raid on a drug kingpin’s den. Squirrels got nothin’ on raccoons. 

The wildlife here is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before in my own backyard—barred owls, a great horned owl, sharp-shinned hawks, red tailed hawks, a cormorant that shouldn’t even BE here, deer, horses, possums, raccoons, rabbits, bats, turtles, and recently, a four and a half foot rat snake that nearly gave me a heart attack when the dog found it and wanted to play. 

There’s a wildness here that walks the line of supernatural. There is a definite vibe after dark. You can hear it, feel it, sense it. Nature speaks differently here, she’s…persistent, so you must show your respect. She’s sharing her secrets with you, but she’s also watching. Life has new meaning here. 

The forest is alive, her song constant, yet ever changing.