For Small Things
I don’t
know how many white eggs
or brown the
goose laid that gave her down
to fill
my parka and keep me warm.
But I’m
grateful.
Sometimes
a leaf falls when I am
not the
least bit lonely, a reminder
that
someday . . . someday.
And I’m
grateful.
Under snow
the ring I lost stays
bright with
the hope for spring.
A seed
catalog came in the mail today.
I’m grateful.
It gives
me a garden to plan
while the
last log burns to ash—
a warm hearth
to remember home,
to
remember home.
—Donnell
Hunter
28
January 2012
I saw a leaf fall this morning from the Texas oak that leans over the pool. There's nothing wrong and everything right about a list of "gratefuls." Unlike you, however, I was a "bit lonely." When the humidity rises and the occasional fog chooses to hang around till noon, I think of Escondido and my youth, my careless youth sometimes, and wish I had known birds and trees and, perhaps, even cared enough to open the Burney Seed Catalog with springtime zest. That might have made, the echo says, "all the difference" now.
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