When I started raking the leaves under dark skies this morning, my natural inclination was to complain to myself about the chore. So many other more pleasant things I could be doing, I thought. The mall, the TV, books, the sofa.
But then I suddenly realized how ridiculous that notion was. I woke up. How fortunate, how absolutely friggin' lucky I am to be out here doing these things, my conscience reminded me.
I remembered how it felt to come out of the hospital after even a short stay, or how it was to step outside the door after a bad flu or some other ailment had kept me bedridden or just indoors. When you move around again, you feel joy in being alive and in being able to do things. Life is for living. This freedom is special.
How difficult it is, in comparison, for those recovering in hospital from a heart attack, a round of chemotherapy, a debilitating disease; how frustrating it must be to be confined to a bed or be forced indoors by some form of disability. What some people would give to be out here just raking leaves, for God's sake.
As I said, I woke up.
I quickly realized how fortunate I was to feel the cool wind on my face, to smell the wonderful odour of autumn, to feel the fresh dew on the grass, to hold leaves in my hand, to live in safety, to live in Canada.