Think of One Thing to be Grateful for

The way sparks scatter from a cigarette butt tossed out the window of a white work pickup truck with ladders on the top on a dark double-lane highway at night somewhere in the quiet of southern Virginia

That squeaking sound of fingers sliding up strings in acoustic recordings of someone playing guitar who is incredibly talented but his fingers still squeak on the strings just enough to prove he’s no robot and there’s real flesh on the fretboard

When the song ends just as I pull into my parking space and it’s a live recording so it ends with a burst of applause and cheering and whistling as I put my car in park in celebration that I once again maneuvered heavy machinery without causing injury to anyone

The surface of a freshly opened jar of not natural peanut butter with the oil where you have to stir it but Jif or Skippy that sits smooth and sleek and beautiful and smells more perfect in that first moment when you peel back the foil than peanut butter does at any other time and in any other form

A flock of grackles yard-hopping through a neighborhood settling en masse on the grass for a few breaths before they take flight all at once and swirl around like pepper in the air before settling down on the next yard in obedience to invisible cues


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