bask

Butter for bread. Milk for coffee (though some take it black, prefer honey).
To feel warmth, in words, from the sun, weak but strong enough nearing December to put bare feet on the window ledge but have socks, have boots, be able to tread through weather without worry. The dog, without fleas,
snoring but ready at the word 'walk.' To pass through streets without dread. To stay in without hiding. Here. Books, paper, thought. To sleep or not.
A bed. To say to you 'one hundred blessings' and yet, never knowing you,
to hope that words will be enough. Always.