Toast

This is a toast.

A toast to waking up every morning.
... to the smell of rain in the air.
... to lazy evenings with friends, giggling over drinks while reclining on couches.
... to internet that works when we need it to, and doesn't work when we need it to.
... to a perfectly brewed pot of coffee.
... to new running shoes, or perfectly worn and broken-in pairs.
... to a quiet, peaceful apartment.
... to a house full of stomping and sleepy-eyed nephews, playing with trains.
... to the ability to recognize what needs to be changed, and to act on that recognition.
... to the time to write and ponder.
... to new computers and old books.
... to the freedom to sulk and feel pity for oneself every now and then.
... to the discipline to tell oneself to suck it up and get on with life.
... to late afternoons naps on the couch.
... to French Bulldogs, Great Danes, Golden Labs, Pit Bulls, and every breed in-between.
... to cats that hurl themselves like cannonballs against closed doors - rebel! Resist!
... to late birthday cards in the mail.
... to wanderers and the insatiably curious.
... to the smell of delicate insensce in the air, floating over air conditioned breezes.
... to new restaurants.
... to new walking paths.
... to the young, the old, and the unique.
... to new impulses and old habits.
... to the neurotic, impulsive, obsessive, and passionate.
... to the seekers of truth.
... to integrity.
... to simplicity.
... to knowledge.
... to life.

... to teachers who's voices remain after years of silence. *Riley.