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The Green Patch of Gratitude


In the town that I live, hidden between two bustling main streets, there is a tiny patch of green. By no means has this grassy patch any right of existence. The city has eaten up so much of its land. Like a hungry teenager, its appetite knows no limit. The city has grown wide and tall, and continues to sprout. This tiny patch should have been devoured. And yet it remains.

Every morning, when I step out of my home, I hold my breath, expecting to find the edges of the green grass turning into grey asphalt. In the afternoon, when my day is done, I tentatively look around to see tell-tale signs of construction, demolition and municipal decrees. But the patch remains obstinately in place.

Everyone should have such a place. Somewhere that conjures tranquility and fear. Somewhere that frees the heart and causes it to restrict. A place where complacency is unacceptable and nothing can be taken for granted. A place that reminds us that there is always cause for gratitude.


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