It is cold and rainy outside. I hear the drip, drip, dripping outside my writing room window. Later it might even snow. I have lit a rose scented candle and am utterly comfortable in my long johns and old flannel shirt. My old cat snores at my feet and wolfie has happily come in from the rain to chew on a bone.
When summer comes, I will miss the way it feels when the furnace kicks on. I will miss the hum of warm air against the threat of cooler temperatures. This morning my job is to stitch the pieces of my past together with words--like a quilt. Conditions are perfect.
How can I not be grateful for what my life is right now?