What was on the wall that day.
Grateful for the surgeon who hummed while she worked.
Snow falling under a streetlight at three in the morning.
My favorite barista handing me my drink without being asked.
The crinkle a new book makes when you open it.
Snow on pine boughs.
Today, bright and sunny. My coffee in hand. Sitting outside. Thinking about how blessed I am even with all that I didn't want in my life, how truly blessed I am to be here today.
A teenager carried my groceries up four flights when the elevator broke. Refused the five dollars.
My friend wrote my eulogy for me, sealed it, said it's not for now, but for when.
The night before my mother's surgery, she made me promise to keep her plants alive. They are still alive. She is not. They are still alive.
My city has a free bus that runs through the neighborhood. I take it just to sit and watch the streets.
Crows arguing in the oak. They sound like they're having a great time.
A meadow full of black-eyed Susans.