thanksgivings. opening our home to others. running water. the knock and ping of radiators. pumpkin pie. autumn crops. red wine. rain. wooden floors. generosity. the orange glow flowing from twilight windows. embracing. moms and dads—those alive and ones who’ve passed. espresso. the smell of burning embers in a cold mist. moonlit walks. bodies of water. rain. a space for contemplation. gatherings. constellations. art. sidewalk strangers. this spot on the earth. candles. dogs and children and turkeys, not necessarily in that order. the light-play and shape of naked trees. a space for making. laughter. relative health. cake for breakfast. crushing acorns. music. the smell-taste of bacon. homemade cannabis remedies. quiet streets. birds. cooking with gas. bourbon, of course. old friends dropping in as if they’d never left. rolling flames. neighbors. seizure-free days. furry dogs. husband. son.
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