What was on the wall that day.
A man on the train let me have his seat without making it weird.
The night before my wedding, my mother and I made the seven kinds of cookies her mother used to make.
Grateful for the boss who paid me on Friday afternoons. Made all the difference back then.
First fire of the season. The house smells like a hundred good winters at once.
I got better. The doctors said I might not.
Sun on the back of my neck while I weed.
My sister kept my secret for thirty years. I just learned she knew.
The first sip of coffee on a Saturday morning when nobody else is awake yet.
The teacher who hugged me when my grandfather died. She wasn't supposed to. She did anyway.
Grateful for the priest who said you don't have to come back. I went back anyway. But it was good to know.
New journal. First page. Pen that works.
The man at the post office knows my mother's name. She doesn't drive anymore. He carries her packages to her car.