(Sometimes it’s tough to feel at home in your own city. Which is why I’ve given myself a challenge: each day, for forty days, I’m going to find *one* thing I love about this place. And then I’m going to tell you about it. If you want to follow my journey, start here. Today is Day Thirty-One.)
I am taking time to be grateful for the smallest and simplest things today:
The black cat who slinks over my fence, his fur oil-slick, his movements so liquid he must dream of a past life when he stalked the jungle as a panther, intent on bigger prey than robins and wrens.
I am grateful for the noontime crunch of leaves underfoot as the mailman approaches my stoop.
The slanting yellow light.
The scudding cirrus clouds.
The sounds of raking leaves, lawns last-mown.
The warm gold squares of my own windows, calling me in from the cold.