As I begin to write again for the Gratitude Project 2026, which stretches from Lughnasa until the autumnal equinox, I get a bit more contemplative. It’s also the time of year where I can sit on my porch step and not melt. So if you’d like to focus on gratitude with me for a while, you’re welcome to join in.
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Mornings are still where it’s at for me. I love to come out with the dogs and just sit and listen. Cicadas fill in the background noise for the moment. Robins and crows break the peace, fussing or calling as they streak across the sky between the pines on either side of the driveway. Sometimes I’m treated to flashes of red—cardinals or tanagers.
I pour out three sips of coffee on the ground as an offering to those who protect our land.
The chickens and turkeys meander and chatter to each other as they find the good bugs in the grass. The ponies munch. I can hear them even though they’re 40 feet away. Serious chewing. Their tails swish softly since the really mean flies aren’t out yet. The dogs play the statue game: one lies in wait until the other gets close enough, then they run directly at each other and clash in a ball of fur and teeth. Then they sneeze. “We’re just playing.”
A kaleidoscope of swallowtail butterflies shift their wings as they puddle next to the hay hut. I sit with my coffee on the faded top step and just exist with them.
🌀Stacia