these are the things that fill my soul:

1. my dog, curled amicably in my lap, quietly sleeping as if the world is not turning, is not hurting, is not crying;
2. my open window behind my office desk, dead tree limbs filling the horizon, conifers holding on to the last of their pines, some remaining leaves doing their best not to fall;
3. a book, opened in my lap, holding secrets of lives that i will never know except for in their words;
4. a steaming cup of coffee next to my arm, connected to my hand, connected to the browning pages of this book;
5. an anthology of twentieth-century poetry that is nearby, the thoughts and dreams and hopes of some of my favorite poets held within;
6. the not-so-distant memory of the laughter and smile of someone i adore, tangled in the sheets of my bed, the sounds of life rushing by us as we lie without noticing;
7. the warmth of a blanket tucked under my feet;
8. the feeling of a pen in my hand as it glides across the pages of my moleskin journal, writing the things most important to me (for all purposes, my SFD);
9. and the feeling of being alive, and calm, and sane, and happy, and myself most of all.