Walking. In gratitude for those working this morning.




1510 consecutive (almost) days on this daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.

While you are all (mostly all) sleeping, and I’m sleepwalking through my morning walk, so many others are working. Working on a early Sunday morning. Picking up our trash, combing our beaches, keeping our parks clean, tending to our sick in hospitals and keeping our communities safe — while we sit and enjoy our morning coffee easing into our day.

Here’s to all of you who keep our world spinning.

And our gratitude.

DK


Notes:

  • More pictures from this morning’s walk here.
  • Post Inspired by D. Nurske from “Riches of the Interior”: “Pity these souls who could not endure our burden of endless gifts.
  • Post also Inspired by John O’Donohue from Anam Cara: “It is a strange and magical fact to be here, walking around in a body, to have a whole world within you and a world at your fingertips outside you. It is an immense privilege, and it is incredible that humans manage to forget the miracle of being here. It is uncanny how social reality can deaden and numb us so that the mystical wonder of our lives goes totally unnoticed. We are here. We are wildly and dangerously free.” (Thank you Hammock Papers)

the little things were everything


But after a couple of weeks of listing things I was grateful for, I came to see that the little things were everything. The little things were what I held on to at the end of the day. Single jokes that gave me the giggles. A beautiful flower arrangement, viewed through the window of a café. The fact that my cat came to cuddle me when she saw I was sad. These things gave me hope, pleasure, solace. Together, they added up to a fulfilling life. If a simple flower arrangement could make this world just a little more bearable, then perhaps my own small actions meant more than I was giving them credit for. Maybe when I made dinner, or listened to a friend rant, or complimented a woman on her incredible garden, I was helping make this world survivable for others. Perhaps that evening, when tallying up their own wins and losses for the day, someone would think of something I’d done and smile.

Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma (Ballantine Books, February 22, 2022)


Notes:

Sunday Morning

What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.

~ Mary Oliver, from “Straight Talk from Fox” in Redbird: Poems


Notes: Poem Source – Thank you beyondthefieldsweknow.org. Photo: Michael Blann / Getty Images

Mostly, on point…

Here is how I spend my days now.

I live in a beautiful place.

I sleep in a beautiful bed.

I eat beautiful food.

I go for walks through beautiful places.

I care for people deeply…

I cry easily, from pain and pleasure, and I don’t apologize for that.

In the mornings I step outside and I’m thankful for another day.

It took me many years to arrive at such a life.

~ Ottessa Moshfegh, Eileen: A Novel


Notes:

Sunday Morning

What was precious—flexing.
Fingers wrapping bottle, jar,
fluent weave of tendon, bone, and nerve.
To grip a handle, lift a bag of books,
button simply, fold a card—…

Unthinking movement, come again.
These days of slow reknitting…
Thank your ankles, thank your wrists.
How many gifts have we not named?

~ Naomi Shihab Nye, from “Broken” in Voices in the Air: Poems for Listeners 


Poem: Thank you Beth @ Alive on all Channels. Photo via seemore