Gratitude for small things and water

Yes, water is a theme–and I’ve been always more grateful since our summer and winter of drought.

This morning, walking across the bridge, I saw the goslings again, and I hoped I would see ducklings. A little further down the path, I did! They were too tiny and too quick, zipping behind the log where the turtle sunned, and I could not catch my breath fast enough to get a photo.

At home in the garden, I checked up on the tomatoes and was amazed by their tiny fur. At first I thought it might be a mildew, or some kind of spit bug. Up close, just hundreds of fine bristles.

tomato plants

Later, Tom suggested we go to the Ivar’s barge for dinner. We found parking, and we found a table by the water. Plus fish and chips.

kayak on lake union

For your summer evening reading pleasure by the water or not, here is Petition, by K.A. Hayes.

Gratitude in a bunch of places

Today’s first moment of joy came on the bus, when a mom sat down with her glorious two-year-old son who started a five-way conversation in two languages.

I was on my way to have lunch with my mom–I’m always grateful to spend time with her even though I don’t spend nearly enough. And looking around today, I felt thankful for bodies, these mysterious machines that mostly keep us moving pretty well–despite any extra pounds and bad knees and knobby knuckles, bodies that keep working through time and fighting for us, doing their best against age and illness and plain gravity.

No photo today, and looking for poems, I found this one–a poem that is so much bigger than my quotidian day but too stunning not to share: Testimonial, by Rita Dove.

Gratitude with wings and water

This morning, the bald eagle perched on the lamppost above the highway. Traveling at 60 miles an hour, I looked as long as I could but did not attempt to take a picture. Seeing that enormous presence in the morning always feels like a blessing.

Later, restless from sitting too long at my desk and screen, I walked along the creek, and that too feels like a blessing. First, the walking, bad knee and all. Then the bridge with the water sliding under, the daily changes as plants bloom, as the rose hips start to swell fat and bright, as the water rises after rain and then falls low–so low in the drought year I worried it would not come back.

north creek from bridge

Sometimes, a heron. Today, only a small white fluff of a dog running, dragging a dusty red leash, a young woman stumbling to grasp it and stop him. Easy. I took a step to the left, and the pup was so surprised that he stopped. We laughed together as she picked up the leash.

Little moments like these.

For a poem, one of my favorites–yes, urban, and yet the fox is a wildness in Searching for Pittsburgh by Jack Gilbert.

Gratitude with goslings

Lately, like this morning, the news weighs on me. I saw an advertisement for a 25-pound blanket that should help me sleep. The news sits on me like 25 pounds or more, and it does not comfort, does not help me sleep. I was thinking about the news while walking along the creek when through the branches I saw goslings!

goslings with lookout parent geese

It’s a bad photo, and goslings grow up to be geese, of which we have no shortage. But there’s something heart-catching and heart-healing about the sight of goslings—or ducklings, puppies, kittens, calves, foals, lambs, the babies we hold and burp and peek-a-boo.

For a poem, today’s is Eating the Avocado, by Carrie Fountain.

Gratitude with honeysuckle

When the back yard was a riot of roses, the honeysuckle was shadowed over, barely a bloom each year, one withered vine barely winding its escape from the thorny canes. But my daughter cut those roses out mostly, and with all that new sun, the honeysuckle sweetly surges. It’s a good reminder: Sometimes we need a little more light.

honeysuckle blooming

I’ve been feeling like I need more light–even in these gloriously long days. I thought of when I used to post a weekly gratitude journal, and it seemed a good practice to return to. Not just the private morning gratitude in my journals, but a thankfulness shared. Daily, if I can do it. One small thing, maybe with a photo, maybe a link to a poem.

Today, it’s the honeysuckle blooming. And the poem is The Daylight is Huge, by Amy MacLennan.

What’s brought you joy today?