I am grateful for grilled cheese. For the glittering views of the mountain from this place I get to call home for a bit. For hotel rooms that turn into safe places, and for the way the fog spiderwebs around the trees. I am grateful for books that hurt in a good way, and for hot showers, and for seeing my first raccoon ever. For audio messages and long e-mails sent across the ocean. For the sunrises that set the forest aflame, and for strawberries in the evening, and for eleven-weeks-old puppies. For face masks. I am grateful for laundry that is warm out of the drier – for the small comfort that is sinking my face into it and breathing.
I am grateful for large hot chocolates on Thursday mornings just because; for hot chocolates on Tuesdays, and on Sunday afternoons, and on the days I have not slept. I am grateful for fresh air, and for the ten-minute pockets of sunshine the mountain sometimes offers. For Uniqlo’s mens’ briefs-turned-pyjamas. For stolen walks, and siracha ketchup, and for a second cup of tea. I am grateful for the sounds of the rain and the wind from the warmth; for burrito-wrapping into myself into my comforter and listening. For homemade cookies, and for friends that will answer your I’ve been home all day and I am going stir crazy with Hot chocolates at mine in an hour.
I am grateful for people that will ditch the party half-way through with you and invite you back to theirs for Tim Tams and hot drinks instead; for that feeling of finding people that might be tribe. For learning what a Tim Tam slam is. I am grateful for the first snowfall; the flurries that stick to your scarf and turn into sludge on the ground. I am grateful for all the snowfalls that follow. I am grateful for yoga, and feeling the stretch of it deep into my body. For friends that turn your morning around with hot chocolate and a donut. I am grateful for tea candles, and for the days it feels easier to breathe. For words that grow, and for laughter, and for being able to lay my head on someone’s shoulder.
I am grateful for the breath-taking magic of the mountain, for ruined film and ghost Polaroids, for homemade fries and failed poached eggs, for terrible French rap. For laughter. For paint nights with new friends. For five a.m wake-up calls to go see the red slivers of the Super Blue Blood moon. I am grateful for that feeling of being right where I am supposed to be.