Here is something no heavier than a feather, no larger than the minuscule crack in an acorn's shell through which where new life can seep. 

It offers only a memory of loving hands stitching two frayed ends back together where once there was just a hole in your coat pocket.  It produces nothing but a soft sigh after a long day as you settle in your favorite reading chair to savor the company of your books. And where others debate over the fullness of a glass, you see only that you have a cup the color of the sky on a clear day capable of holding anything.

That is the gift of gratitude.  You see everywhere signs of abundance rather than absence, wings rather than cages.  And finally, enjoyment in the way your feet always take you back to your own doorstep and the pleasure--deep and full like your first breath of the day--in knowing you are home.