It's a slow Sunday. My one adventure outside was to Half-Price books--where I found a bunch of postcards but none of the books I was looking for--and the grocery store. Oh, and another quick dash to the alley to stand in the falling snow. Around here, you have to enjoy it while it lasts, because most of the time it doesn't. Now I am throwing the catnip mouse for Gilbert to chase.
Today I am thankful for those few flakes of snow, and I'm thankful that it didn't stick (especially because my daughter was out with the car).
I'm thankful that I finished a poem, and I'm thankful I had the time to finish a poem.
I'm thankful that my husband is making a big pot of red sauce.
I'm thankful for my here family and my wider family--aunt and uncle and cousins.
I'm thankful for "Homage to Paul Cezanne," by Charles Wright.
I'm thankful for the chance to ask questions.
I'm thankful for this day.
Open the door. Open my heart.