Autumn has arrived her in my town in the past few days, reminding me as spiders do that Mother Nature is the world’s greatest artist, no one can touch her. I thought this morning that in so many ways, life is a choice between fear and gratitude. When fear rises up in the night, sometimes on my walks, I choose gratitude. On my walk today I was grateful to be alive, to be healing, to be walking up this hill I could not walk up two months ago. I was grateful to have Maria, someone I love dearly, walking at my side, Red and Lenore flanking us. I was grateful for them, for Simon and the other donkeys, for our farm, for my blog and my photographs, for my books,  for the gift of writing about the New York Carriage Horses and their drivers, a story that has rekindled my passion for truth and justice.

I was grateful for this road, for the town I live in, for the life I lead, for the friends who care about me and who I care about. It isn’t that I have nothing to fear. I have two chronic diseases, the new realities of publishing, the glorious challenge of aging well, the cruelty and anger in the world. But that is only part of the story, their story. Some of life is a choice, some is not. I choose gratitude over fear. My life fills with riches every day, I can barely count them. I looked up and saw the morning mist framing the orange and red hues of the trees, and I was so grateful to be able to capture it.