For the hills outside the window and their ever-changing colors and the ever-changing clouds that hold them. For the chickens dustbathing in the late-November sun. For the chicken I will eat with my true love tonight. For my true love, and the eyes he has that see into my fears and hopes and lies and dreams, for which I am rarely thankful at the time. For my own eyes that see and hands and arms and legs that grasp and lift and hike the hills. For the kitten who tries to help me fold the laundry. For a warm place to sleep at night and a belly full of food. For a winter's worth of squash and potatoes, rutabagas and carrots, tucked away. For the family whose love I've never doubted. For knowing what I want my life to look like, and for a life that already looks very much that way. For a good book and a cup of tea. For good soil and soft rain. For blueberry pie and pumpkin spice cake and coffee stout and love. And love. And love.