Happy, Happy Thanksgiving!
Across the river, Mary stands, watching tranquilly from the riverbank. I try to make it over there on a daily basis to lay my hand on her head and ask for her guidance and a measure of her grace. I step carefully this morning when I make my way across the frost laden bridge. Fragrant steam rises from cup of tea that is warming my hands and a thick bed of pine needles cushions my footfall on the other side. I place my hand on her cold head in my familiar custom for a brief moment and then I sit down beside her to hear what she hears and to see what she sees. The sun is just peaking over the pines and washing the snow in an early morning blush. The woodsmoke is curling from our chimney. A squirrel gives chase after the bandit that stole his pinecone. The gypsy river gurgles its protest to the creaking cover of ice that holds it down and keeps it from dancing among the rocks. The wings of a blue jay whisper in the branches above.
I had planned to write a progression of the last few Thanksgivings, starting with a boozy, slurring one spent among fellow boaters and then progressing to last year’s Thanksgiving when I was early in my pilgrimage to the new land of sobriety and my sons looked on with wary eyes as I opened the second bottle of champagne. But I don’t want to go back there. Instead I just want to be right here in this hard-won new joy and peace, with the sun shining on my face.
Today I’m just out there doing my best to be as thankful as I should be.