Overslept and under-rested, what a way to start a day! And yet, with days as pleasing as these? Chock full of the wonder and drudgery and mystery and troubles wrapped up in the fires of existence? How can one not sing out of a gloomy morn, grateful for the journey no matter the cost?
I feel lucky now, counting myself most fortunate to still be here, to still be able to get about, to see, to hear, to learn, to reach out and occasionally touch some real thing, to know how little I can ever know. I even am grateful for the tough breaks, the knuckleheads (among whom I must count myself at times), the losses (all the heartbreaking losses, thus far and to come), the mean-spirited and fear-ginned-up times in which we now live. For they, too, are a clarion call to rise, to stand forth, to give each day and night our very all. Gratitude, it turns out, unspools sadness and rims it with love and pluck, and with these sturdy tools a person can carry on.