There is no enough to gratitude, and it does not in the least seem an ill-conceived exercise, devotion, project, life, to do nothing other than … catalog said gratitudes, perhaps starting with the interior of what, before your devotional, your practice, you considered your body…
~ Ross Gay, Inciting Joy
I say my nostrils, two different shapes they have, and baby Edith has the same, some gene from me, perhaps.
These nostrils sniff when garbage and drainer need to be emptied or food is suspect.
They smell the roses, cliché for sure, except the scent always makes me think of Grandma Van Zwol, who maybe gave me these nostrils to begin with.
They smell the damp, dark soil here in Iowa and take me off to Sweden, the countryside around Håå.
They smell the wetted, dry red earth, and I am at home again in desert paradise.
Coffee brewing, and I am utterly grateful I can still smell, if not drink it. The same of onions frying.
And a poopy nappy because it means baby's tubes are all working as meant. Thank you.
For this old body that still heals its cuts and is quick to respond to a beneficent change.
Limbs that move and hold me mostly upright. Thank you.
The times when one small, otherwise insignificant act makes me intensely love my life––like tossing my favorite old, patched night hat onto the comforter cover with its pandas and bamboo leaves.
There is no enough to gratitude.
You are grateful for today.