Gratitude

It was five years ago tonight I gave up my previous, short-lived fiction blog, took Duncan for a walk and thought, "Hmmmm. What if....."

An hour or so later, thanks to a little boy who couldn't wait, While Walking Duncan was born.

Eight-hundred seventy-one posts, forty-thousand plus page-views, and countless feathers later I'm still going strong. Readers have come and gone and come again but every day Duncan and I walk. It's what we do.

Thank you not only for tagging along but for the support and encouragement you've offered over the past five years. My life has been forever changed by your presence in it.

If you'll allow me to share another poem from Mary Oliver, who seems to know exactly how I feel every moment of my life, I'd be most grateful.

Gratitude

What did you notice?

The dew snail;
the low-flying sparrow;
the bat, on the wind, in the dark;
big-chested geese, in the V of sleekest performance;
the soft toad, patient in the hot sand;
the sweet-hungry ants;
the uproar of mice in the empty house;
the tin music of the cricket’s body;
the blouse of the goldenrod.

What did you hear?

The thrush greeting the morning;
the little bluebirds in their hot box;
the salty talk of the wren,
then the deep cup of the hour of silence.

What did you admire?

The oaks, letting down their dark and hairy fruit;
the carrot, rising in its elongated waist;
the onion, sheet after sheet, curved inward to the
    pale green wand;
at the end of summer the brassy dust, the almost liquid
    beauty of the flowers;
then the ferns, scrawned black by the frost.

What astonished you?

The swallows making their dip and turn over the water.

What would you like to see again?

My dog: her energy and exuberance, her willingness,
    her language beyond all nimbleness of tongue, her
    recklessness, her loyalty, her sweetness, her
    sturdy legs, her curled black lip, her snap.

What was most tender?

Queen Anne’s lace, with its parsnip root;
the everlasting in its bonnets of wool;
the kinks and turns of the tupelo’s body;
the tall, blank banks of sand;
the clam, clamped down.

What was most wonderful?

The sea, and its wide shoulders;
the sea and its triangles;
the sea lying back on its long athlete’s spine.

What did you think was happening?

The green breast of the hummingbird;
the eye of the pond;
the wet face of the lily;
the bright, puckered knee of the broken oak;
the red tulip of the fox’s mouth;
the up-swing, the down-pour, the frayed sleeve
  of the first snow—

so the gods shake us from our sleep.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.