It’s a rainy green river and kayaking with my sons
It’s making home fries on Saturday with Cora—laughing and cooking, a big breakfast for everyone
It’s a cabin in the woods
It’s a long hug in the morning
It’s the twang of my grandfather’s Gibson banjo and an old Stetson hat on my head
It’s a bowl of spicy crab soup- reminding me of my grandmother, Betty
It’s a backyard cookout with friends—no worries, no hurries.
It’s not caring what kind of car I drive— just needs to get me there.
It’s walking the brown country fields with Daisy on quiet winter days
It’s pounding chicken cutlets until tender and drenching them in flour, breading them and frying in oil—everybody wants one!
It’s a day surf fishing –even when nothing is caught—the waves in insistent breath breaking on the shore—echoing the rhythm of my heart.
It’s a Martin guitar resounding against the quiet walls of morning—a song unfolding
It’s spinning records in the basement –finding that time to be absorbed by sound
It’s wires and microphones at 5am
It’s playing darts with Tim, year after year.
It’s cruising the backroads to take pictures, the trees and landscapes as ready made works of art
It’s a fireplace and tv with my family on a Sunday night. Familiar laughs and gentle peace.
It’s wading the Conestoga, line pulled tight with the fight of a new fish.
It’s the realization that there really are a thousand gifts for which I am thankful.