The Good Stuff

I woke up this morning thinking about something good, but now I can not remember it. It was good stuff, though - something that feeds my spirit like leaning against my horse's neck, brushing her sleek coat shining like a new penny.

Rolling eighty on the open highway beneath a blue sky, all that Harley horsepower available at the roll of my wrist.

The comforting sound of distant thunder, as if the earth is murmuring to me.

Old friends, people who know my history and love me still. They think my jokes are funny.

Driving the country road toward home every evening, humble as it is, where the escaped bunny lives a free life and Duke, the great rabbit chaser, ignores her.

Good old Duke, that good dog - the good dog. He is good stuff, for sure.

Hot tea with cream.

Pay day.

Breathing.