After a strenuous day of hustling and bustling, I felt blissfully relieved to be alone in the backyard of our Ontario rental home with just my thoughts, my pen and good book. There was no need for my iPod and headphones under the solitude of dusk, for the harmony of sweet bird trills, gentle dog barks and low owl hoots were almost like music itself. From the first moment I spent walking on Ontario soil that week, I soaked up all of the sun and warmth that I possibly could. Sun-kissed freckles presented themselves on my shoulders, and my nose turned pink from the dazzling afternoons.
My heart was expansive and pleasantly full from the day's events. I sent silent thanks for various things. For organic peanut butter drizzled over oats with freshly sliced fruit and various nuts or seeds. For local roadside stands that advertise their variety of cherries, apricots and plums on bright homemade signs. For half-sisters that let me meddle with their baking and cooking attempts. For cousins who will discuss anything from flavours of chips to cleaning bathrooms. For crushed avocado on warm whole wheat bread. For family reunions that cheer me up on the inside. For friends that I haven't seen in years. For grandparents who will never let me go hungry. For early morning runs, when it's just the dawn-lit streets and the echo of my footfalls. For good music that never disappoints. For flowing sundresses that suit my frame and twirl around my legs. For evening sunsets.
It feels wonderful to be thankful.