Gratitude

There is a strangeness to feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude amongst chaos. A selfishness, almost, because the true chaos isn't close to here. But it's 2025, and I can observe terrifying scenes through filtered or unfiltered views at my leisure. I still don't know how to hold that juxtaposition in my head or my heart.

And yet, I am compelled to write not because of the things I cannot honestly experience, but because of the things I can.

Summer has arrived, and it is a blissful Maine morning. Sips of coffee punctuated by bird sound layered with the low rumble of rubber on road. I'm in my driveway -- so is our dog -- and even the black flies are preoccupied by their good fortune to be here in this moment.

There are few feelings as good as what I feel now. A quiet contemplation, marveling at the gift of life as it is in this very scene. Every one of my attempts to cast this feeling in words feels woefully inadequate. Still, I have been itching to write literally anything for months now.

I am grateful for the way our towering maple, leaned out over the road, casts fuzzy shadows on the front of the garage -- each one unique every moment, every day.

I am grateful for the rich orange of the Oriole's belly.

I am grateful that my wife and I can whisper jokes and encouragement and "I love you"s to each other in the form of impossibly small vibrations fluttering among the lush trees of peninsula. Like bird chirps with greater range and the ability to encode images of today's snake or frog visitor at the gardens.

Last night I was filled with an eagerness to accomplish about a million things today. This morning the weather and her inspired equilibrium drew me out into the yard, where a sleeping dog lies.

It is my greatest hope that, among the chaos -- and in spite of it -- moments like these will continue to grace us all.

What an honor it is to receive the gift of this day.