Grateful:
My baby’s warm, humid breath that smells vaguely of yogurt; pillow-cheeks under my kiss; his laughter, which has made me so much more that I knew I could be.
The foghorn on the ocean, reassuring and steady.
Looking up at a sky filled with stars, becoming dizzy just trying to keep a single one in my sight.
The six adults who have been my rock during the pandemic.
My dogs: my constant companions, my ready celebrators, my ever-forgiverers, my – in so many ways – dearest friends. A hundred combined pounds of pure and total love.
The tall, sweet man who has surprised me with his heart.
Sitting under a tree, a latte by my side, a friend two seats over, writing.
My nephews: so loved, so small and so big, so very close to my heart.
The unexpected ways that family forms and reforms and invites people to stay for a lifetime.
This moment: pie in the oven, radio on, loved ones safe, the sound of a foghorn and my waking son unfurling the day before me.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
The Wandering Introvert 