It is Thanksgiving.
Where, O where, do we begin?
I could say thanks for buttons,
zippers, snaps and velcro, or
we would all be wearing
sweatshirts and sweatpants
Or for hi-liters, which help me
remember poignant words
and phrases that light fires
in my imagination and heart.
Or seeking furniture for the homeless
who now have a home, someone
calls and says, “We have a couch.”
Or the cold nose of my dog, nuzzling
me right now.
Or a military honor guard who folds the
flag as if his life depended on it and
looks right in the eyes of the widow
to bring comfort and gratitude from
Or the Psalmist writing, “though there
be tears in the night, there will be joy
in the morning.”
Or the sweetened taste of a tart cherry
in a pie or cherry crunch.
Or the cold weather which lets me
wear my pullover fleece from the
Down Syndrome Association of
Or freshly washed hands.
Or The Message.
Or the Ray Harm print of seven
game birds over my desk.
Or thankful birds after I feed them.
Or a grandson with a sense of humor.
Or, or, or, ad infinitum.
Thanks be to God. Period.
Moving to the deeper places,