count the blessings of this year.
it is always the smallest of things. the time the house didn't flood though it rained like crazy and i was sure it would. the sand katie brought back from france, the most beautiful of grays, mixed with our texas red beneath the stairs, and how, until the two colors finally became one, it made me smile every time i passed it. this up-until-august mild summer and sunsets over the lake. sitting on the back porch with a friend, around my mother's old table, in heat and in cold, talking down the day. ideas that kept coming and words i kept writing when i thought i couldn't. accidental hearts dropped from trees onto the sidewalk. reading by kindle-light. a new photograph on the wall. a paintbrush in my hand, though never against canvas until this very day. 2 paintings sold in a year of not talking much about even being a painter. reading my poetry aloud to strangers, and crying at the same poem each time, even though i'd not cried during its writing, and even though i wasn't sure it was truly poetry. surprising myself.
it isn't last year and the cat bites me less.
a few weeks ago, a healer told me i had a too-vulnerable heart.
a blessing, i think, to not have hardened myself
after all the deaths and hurts of the last few years.
everything heals in its own time.
even the scars are blessings.
i am blessed to be sitting here, electricity paid, the tv on with no sound, elizabeth taylor as maggie the cat, a fan blowing cool air onto my bare feet, the now-nicer cat asleep behind me on the back of the couch, a mockingbird singing outside the door. cicadas.
always, always, it is the small things.