The chill of a gusting wind, whistling through barren branches.
Spiraling leaves, blurring in a kaleidoscope of fire.
The brittle paper of an old novel.
The crunch of footsteps.
The peeling laughter of friends.
The finality of page fourteen of a research paper.
The warm embrace of loved one.
We miss the seemingly minuscule aspects of our life that make it beautiful and unique. It's not that life is perfect. It's not. It's hard and painful at times, but to live in a life void of thanksgiving is to live in a world of shadow.
If we wait to give thanks until the golden light of morning dawns and our life is perfect then we will wait until we turn to dust. There will always be some reason to not give thanks, so we must rummage through the broken pieces to find the sparkling bits of beauty that have been covered with the grime of life.
Give thanks, for even the most minuscule glimpse of beauty is a blessing and a gift from above. Treat it as such.