Little Things that are actually Big Things

a poem of thanksgiving

Sailing into the St. Johns River

shoes to protect my tender feet,
the campfire and its healing heat
a boat, and sail to make it heel
the compass, the sextant, and the wheel

a pen, and paper to spread its inky bliss
the big bear hug, a deep French kiss.

spectacles for my weary eyes
journalists, to help me realize
the on/off switch, zeroes and ones
spreadsheets, and balanced sums

big fluffy towels, to lie on hot sandBouquet from Alegria
phone calls from friends, helping hands

the hot water heater, a convertible two-seater,
a syncopated beat, iambic pentameter

a car, for when I need to roam
a light on, for when I come home
photographs to keep my memories true,
especially my fondest ones of you

slow dancing, with intimate grace,
a blanket, and its warm embrace,
a pillow for my sleepy head
and silence, after all is said.

About 

Jersey girl by birth, sailor by marriage, wife & mother by grace.

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