Thanks for asking...
I live for the feel of sand and grass under my bare feet, steadying me, holding me here
For how my children still believe a hug from me can cure any hurt and the pure softness of their skin when I touch them
For hot baths on cold nights
For twilight, when everything I have to do is done and I'm free to dream
For those precious times when my mind relaxes and the words come through condensing something big and gangly into something pure and beautiful.
For listening to unbearably beautiful songs, (Famous Blue Raincoat) (the Queen and the Soldier) and bell birds
For moments of truth, births, deaths when all the bullshit falls away and no longer matters
For kindness both given and received, and those precious solitary moments when you can unwrap those kind words or a touch and savour them again
For warm sun on bare skin
For wild winds, actually for any kind from the gentlest breeze to the cyclonic
For trees that dance for me
For dancing badly and with abandon
For singing badly and with abandon
For dancing and singing badly and with abandon at the same time
For sore muscles that remind me I'm here
For dreams so vivid they have to be real
For the smells of freshly mown grass, rain on a hot day, and bush fires
For silence
For stillness
For eating olives
For having my feet touched
For daydreams that come true

Great answer! I like the idea that the afterlife might be in the ground - find that kinda reassuring.

the cooling, damp leather of the couch, soaked in my history, always giving me back the scents of familiarity.

the dirt collecting in the microscopic cracks, stubble, and folds of books; the filth that lives in gypsum rock walls. I've never really been one for detail. I've never really sought to be 100% clean because of how much life is in the dirt. As far as we know, the afterlife is in the ground. Transcendence is not fighting the soil as you return what you owe to it.

blurred lines, like a kaleidoscope -- no matter how much closer you look, there are fractals upon fractals. the line is still blurry under a microscope, so it's better to accept that some things are a little bit right and a little bit wrong simultaneously. then you can believe that this is true for all things, equidistant from true and false at their ideological core. such is beauty; such is the crucial, human flaw that drives everything.

when things break just a little bit, but are still useful.

the green that returns every year, no matter how stubbornly I cling to the idea of being miserable forever. when the sun hits those leaves, you can almost breathe it in, saturating yourself in the fleeting desperate cycle of live that is living in this clime.

the feeling of pens on envelopes that will never be delivered.
the thrill of when they go missing -- maybe they will, then.

reading the velveteen rabbit in everything else.

laughing in that ugly, uncontrolled, unphotogenic way. The kind that makes you hurt and tear up and becomes increasingly precious. The weight of years may fold up our skin and steal our strength, but that laughter has an exponential potency.

going hungry, then eating a good meal, drinking a good drink.

the company of perfect strangers: rediscovering old friends.

all of this is important to me.