Tag Archives: gratitude

In All Eternity

“Under your breath, just loud enough to be heard, tell the Earth that you can hear the sound of its turning, and it’s making you giddy. Say, too, how much you love the fact that in all eternity, this moment will never be repeated. Though you may drink in the delicious atmosphere with a trillion trillion more breaths, this special dispensation of air molecules will never fill your lungs again.”

–Rob Breszny

each breath - art every day month 2009 - day 7


Despite the fatigue and pain in my body, despite the washing machine and the dishwasher being broken, despite the state of our country and the earth, I felt flooded with gratitude this morning as I took Claire to art camp for the day. I’m grateful for:

  • coffee, brewed strong and black
  • friends with kids who are willing to help fetch each other’s kids and take them places (it takes a village)
  • my husband’s reliability and humor
  • my daughter, who works so hard to find her way these days
  • the means to afford the repair bills, the art camp, the groceries
  • the spirit of animals, a chance to connect with pure consciousness
  • political resistance and the freedom to act
  • a chance to cherish life and death, creation, destruction, and renewal
  • all the mysteries of existence, the unanswered questions, and the chance to sit with not knowing



Saturday wakes to the scent
of burnt toast wafting through
rattling Venetian-blind palms as
the gonging mission bell cuts
my sleep-hazed mind and
I cross Mercy Street watching

blacktop roses bowing to the
gentle breeze, walk with
lopsided longing toward the kazoo

hum of the Farmer’s Market,
where a blind troubadour sporting
tattoos on her arms courts

seekers and idlers with her
church-bell voice, a
farmer hawks Yukon golds

as if they were treasure.
Beyond these nuggets, past
the fruit waiting patiently as

people nibble nuts, savor honey,
bargain with vendors, the spicy
orange day beckons to me.

–Kathryn Harper