Atheistic Gratitude

I bought a lovely 1974 Raleigh 3 speed bicycle a few days ago, from what women my age might call “a nice young man”. And he was nice. He was a bit anxious about my belief that anything I buy can be tied onto the roof of my Prius and successfully driven home, which it was. I don't know why I'm so happy with this old bicycle. Maybe because, after all the years of racing handlebars and scrunching over in the saddle, becoming numb in the nether regions, I'm back to sitting upright as I did on the big clunky bicycles of my childhood. I bought a basket, I bought a helmet. I toodle around the neighborhood to the library, the hardware store, the grocery, to visit neighbors. It's wonderful.
And when I peddled home this evening, in the golden light, gliding in and out of the long shadows and then to my own little house, I felt such gratitude. My garden is a riot of color, the orange rudbeckias clashing with some sort of blue-purple star-like flower that opens from an origami box shape, Queen Anne's lace, and another frondy pink cotton candy thing, and all the nodding heads of the hosta flowers.
I've done nothing to deserve such abundance.
The one thing I miss about being an atheist is where to send my gratitude . I know there is no being, no intelligence to thank. It's all a beautiful accident that placed me here, and it may well be that I will be gone tomorrow, or in sadly different circumstances . But oh, this evening. Visiting friends, bicycling through the cooling breeze, I feel such immediate, profound contentment.
Perhaps the duty of the atheist is to find creative ways to spread this feeling. To go the further step than a simple “thanks” to some imaginary being. I need to spread my sense happiness, how ever long it lasts.
So, it's a challenge I arrive at. A challenge to help some more. To think of those who can't cycle, can't feel the breeze, are not healthy or fed enough to cycle contentedly home. Do not have a home to cycle to.
It feels like a challenge to grow. Must be right.