Gratitude

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It’s a cloudy morning and I’m having a bean burrito outside on the deck under the big, green umbrella. I pause after each bite, taking time to thoroughly enjoy the flavors and textures while I chew. The crunch of lettuce between my back molars makes me think of Jack Kerouac in The Dharma Bums, getting drunk and eating hot dogs on some California beach, his thoughts spinning like the dharma wheel at breakneck speed (“chomp chomp”). Yes, I thought (chomp chomp), all across time, people yearn to connect with something greater than themselves.

I’ve eaten half of the burrito when I think of giving thanks. I say “Thank you” out loud, and it begins to rain. There’s a clap of thunder–“You’re welcome!”

The clematis has a single, lovely purple flower. It was ravaged and broken during a sudden windstorm earlier this year and has finally recovered enough for a late flowering.

All is still except for the softly falling raindrops and birds chirping in the hazelnut tree. The pack–two dogs and Beezus the cat, are all on the deck with me, not minding the rain. No one is looking, and I lick my plate, getting all the green chili sauce that dripped out of the burrito. Just as I finish, the rain stops.

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