Prison Was the Last Place I Thought I’d Find Something to be Grateful For

A piece on Gratitude, taken from my memoir, “Blank Canvas, How I Reinvented My Life After Prison”:

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I step outside, my hands full of books, journals, and a cup of coffee. It’s a balancing act, one I’ve gotten pretty good at. The fall air feels good on my face, wakes me up. It’s quiet. The birds aren’t even awake.

The sun has not risen above the horizon and already its artistry has begun, the eastern sky ablaze in color. To the west, the light of a few lonely stars fade. I look at where yesterday meets today, the black of night transforming into the dawn of a new day. Black to blue to purple, a cool pink on the fringe.

The forest is alive with color, the fall foliage reflecting the morning light, oranges, reds, and yellows. The oak trees, always the last to turn, still holding their green leaves.

I breathe deeply, a moment of peace as I stand before nature’s majesty. Exhaling, I see it’s a little cooler than I thought. Every morning is a new display, a new piece of art. I’ve never experienced sunrises like this — like snowflakes. No two are the same, but equally stunning. I watch the scene unfold, forgetting where I am, lost in the ever-changing movie playing out across the sky. The medium-security prison, off in the distance, ceases to exist. If only for a second.

I may be in prison…