Let us give thanks
Let us now give thanks for all that we take for granted, including baked chicken and sweet potatoes and hard, crusty cornbread and dressing and giblet gravy and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pies. And for turkey and dressing and coconut pie or even TV dinners and canned Spam and bologna. And for the great riddle of life and for all the clues.
We need food daily, yet we forget this so long as we are eating well and regularly and (for many of us) with some other person preparing most of it, and not just at Thanksgiving. Let’s give thanks for this, and for the great riddle of life.
Once again, leaves have turned brilliant colors on their way to oblivion, and blue-flash of squirrel tails have appeared where acorns fall and wind has swept the earth clean and covered it for the long sleep. On schedule, as it has happened ever year. Let us be thankful. And for the progression of life and for memory and intuition and instinct and logic and analytical minds to unravel bits and pieces of the mystery.
Wind blows from mountains and owls call from the hollows and cattle hump up against the barns to catch sunlight and smoke curls from chimneys as family members wind their way homeward to sit at heavy tables together. And for many chatter hushes briefly at the tapping of fork on crystal as a signal for silence while somebody says grace, giving thanks.
And thanks, too, for quiet moonlight and silent darkness. A briar scratches against chiseled marble or sandstone marker in rural cemeteries where we once wept, and a dove calls in honor of those who taught us to be thankful and who once fed us and covered us in un-warmed beds at night and sat by our side when the fever came.
Let us give thanks for those lives. And for faith and for courage and for the riddle and for not knowing everything and for the challenge and the privilege of riding this spinning cinder, however briefly. And for not having to make the trip alone.