Gratitude–late, with a cat on my lap

ornamental plum blossomsA 12-pound fluffy ball of fur challenges my typing skills–but I’m two days late on the Gratitude Journal. So we’ll work with the fur and claws.

I’m late this week with the Gratitude journal, because we had no Internet (or extremely impaired Internet) over the weekend. I’m grateful we were able to get it fixed (how dependent we’ve become!), and next time I’ll try to be more gracious about it.

I’m thankful for all the blooming. The ornamental plums are almost done, but it’s just the start of the big show!

This past week, I’ve been so thankful for my family (always) and the chance for everyone to come together. My daughter turned 20 (!), but with everyone’s busy schedules and school schedules and vacation times, we weren’t going to be able to celebrate until April (when we’ll have Late Easter, too). But my husband managed to gather everyone here for brunch on Sunday–both my parents, my sister, my sisters-in-law, and the guest of honor. So we had a party after all.

I’m thankful the weather (and my knees) held for a quick (and slow) Sunday afternoon jog.

I’m thankful the weather stayed mostly calm for a late-afternoon drive up to Bellingham and back–so much easier and more fun when the roads are dry (and it’s light out!).

I’m thankful for learning, and its attendant humility–another kind of learning.

I’m thankful for the upcoming poetry month and a couple of late-breaking reading opportunities.

I’m thankful for all the poetry out there.

And I’m thankful that we’re just days a way from the Vernal Equinox. Spring! Here, I’ll close with the title poem from Into the Rumored Spring:

The Wind Is Not Written

Wind whips the birches and firs
into ragged swells of leaf and gust
as though trees become a sea,
green waves rushing to crash the sky.

Branches scratch the windows.
A can clanks down the street
as this ocean above her surges
the words out of her head.

In this chapter, she’s losing her voice,
the plot swept in the surf,
the ebb and crush of illness
dragging characters out of earshot.

If she had a boat that could ride
such bluster, she’d row,
glide on this hissing current
into the rumored spring.