Recently, I’ve found myself reflecting on what it means to truly breathe in gratitude. Not just for the easy days — but for the moments we’ve endured, the people who’ve stood beside us, and the soft light that returns after the dark.
This poem, “The Thankful Breath,” is a meditation on gratitude — for family, for friends, and for the quiet strength that keeps us moving forward.
Breathe in—
the hush before the sun,
the soft gold stretching across the edges of the world,
as if the light itself were whispering,
You made it through the night.
Breathe out—
the weight you carried here,
the stones of what was hard,
the shadows that stayed too long.
Let them tumble from your chest
like autumn leaves returning to the earth.
Gratitude is not always bright.
Sometimes it flickers—
a small flame cupped in the trembling hands of morning,
a heartbeat steady beneath old scars.
It is the quiet knowing
that we have been broken,
and still,
we breathe.
Breathe in—
the scent of coffee,
the soft clatter of someone else awake,
the sound of your own pulse saying,
Still here. Still here.
And nearby—
laughter rising from another room,
the warmth of voices that know your name,
that have seen you in your storms and stayed.
The hand on your shoulder,
the shared glance that says,
I understand.
Breathe out—
thanks for the simple things:
for warmth,
for light,
for family whose love does not falter,
for friends who remind us who we are
when we have forgotten.
For every meal shared in quiet gratitude,
every story told across a table glowing with candles,
for the way love endures—
softly,
steadily,
through the long nights and bright mornings.
For this is what it means to be thankful:
to stand in the thin light of a new day,
hands open,
heart unguarded,
and to know that even the hard things
have made a place for the light to enter.
And in that light—
we find each other.
—
The Listening Post
A quiet place to be heard — and to hear yourself.
ES 
EN