Gratitude

When I wrote to the young woman who sent me Robin Wall Kimmerer's gorgeous Braiding Sweetgrass, I promised her that I would let the book, its deep wisdom, affect me.  I have not consistently kept that promise, but this morning, it came to mind as I was picking blueberries from the bushes in our backyard.

I remembered to be grateful to Sweet Hubby for planting these bushes.  To the soil and sun and rain for nourishing them.  To the berries themselves for feeding us and the birds.  To the good genes which have given me the gift of a body that has remained healthy through so many decades of wear and occasional abuses and neglect.

It's such a small and often silent thing, gratitude, but I find myself feeling less empty when I give it.  It has been suggested to me that this blog too often shares dark, angry, sad thoughts, and it's true that I am often most inspired to write when I'm confronting some challenge or chewing on despair.  I know that we humans grow emotionally from our dark times; there's little incentive to grow or change when we're happy and content.  But I know I can choose which thoughts and feelings to give energy to, and would do well to focus more on what I am grateful for than what I'm ashamed of, angry at, and sad about.  

I am grateful for the family, the time, the country I was born into.  I am grateful for the meandering and rocky path which brought me finally to Sweet Hubby.  I am grateful for whatever mysterious whim helped me decide to live where I do, because I love it so.  And I am grateful for you, because if you are reading this, you are my friend.