I like:

mornings (early)
green leaves turned toward the sun
peanut butter and all other nut products
motion of anything on the wind
erratic light through moving clouds
the weightiness of water on my limbs, the lightness of my limbs in water
lining things up in order by size

I'm a little drunk right now so the importance of these things has reached a melodramatic fever pitch. If I hold on tight enough to what works, what works cosmically all the way down to the interstitial parts of my being, the parts of life that don't work, the parts like brick walls I'm beating my head against, the parts with dark, gaping mouths, will recede and I'll be left a baby in a cornfield with only the roots and the sky.