Life is Beautiful by Heath Hardin


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.