Something has changed. Possibly it's age or the effect of living through the Pandemic or the transformation that occurs after losing loved ones, but I have developed a new and deeper appreciation for the tiniest threads of daily life. Those daily activities I once would sleep walk through, now make me unconscionably happy. Filling the bird feeders; smelling the coffee beans as they are ground down; the way my shampoo feels as it lathers in my hands and then newly baptizes me; the narrative the light follows on a sunny day from its earliest approach on little cat's feet to the swelling crescendo of midday filling the house up until the dramatic orange finale streaking across the sky. The first thing I saw when I opened the blinds was a female cardinal on a bare branch above a snowy yard, its crest ruffled by a strong wind. I'm standing in a middle of a field and can turn and walk in any direction. The ground is well trod in places, thickly overgrown in others. I walk and observe. Grateful for my senses and for each step I'm able to take. Night falls and dreams form a swaying, ephemeral bridge between one day and the next.