Memories of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is so different now than it was when I was young. Some things are hard to describe though, hard to remember from so many years back.

The house rings with joyful sounds of family gathered together. I love just being here with so many cousins and my aunts and uncles and my four siblings. And all the hugs, genuine, happy, it’s-wonderful-to-see you hugs that you can look forward to every year. Big, cheerful Uncle Jim hugs, warm Aunt Judy hugs, Grandpa hugs that smell just like Grandpa should. Every person here loving me, smothering me in their warm, true love.

Finally we all sit down to our meal, two tables to fit everyone. And Grandpa sits at the head of the table, says a prayer, watches all of his children and grandchildren with his eyes sparkling, almost in tears any time his whole family is gathered close. Grandpa has so much tender love in his face every Thanksgiving.

And sitting there eating with my family, everything feels warm, inside and out. It’s safe, it’s secure. Everything embraces me: familiar faces, familiar smells, everything is just as it should be, and I can be just who I am.

Grandma’s food is pretty much perfect in every way. The smell of slow-cooked deliciousness fresh from the kitchen comes to the table to fill the whole house; every bite filled with just enough moistness, savory seasoning, tartness, textures that melt in the mouth. Grandma’s love is in this food, all cooked carefully, expertly, with a lifetime of practice. It’s delicious, Grandma, it’s amazing.

I’m enveloped in laughter, conversation, joking and teasing. I don’t have to participate in it; I can just drink it all in, be taken in by the joy of being with family. I can bathe in the comfort of the sounds and sights and smells. My role is listening, smiling, watching, wishing it would continue forever.

I marvel at the wonder and beauty of the universe around us.

Can you hear it?

The sky is crystal clear

Look up and see

Glistening, gleaming, glowing

And singing

The stars are singing

It’s a love song, I think

To you, to us

To everybody

Stars love singing

And dancing and laughing

And loving

This is what makes them

Shine so brightly

Souls are the same

They need to dance

To move, to flow

To be free

To shine

All creation has this dance

A steady turning and churning

Like a heartbeat

And the ocean’s tides

And the orbits of the planets

They all move together

And sing together

And live together

And love each other

They all need each other

To be whole

To truly exist

The souls and the stars

And everything else

Completely intertwined

In this dance

Completely alive

In this dance

Can you hear it?

And The Seasons Collide...

Each and every leaf is ready

For this wind that will blow through

They're hanging, trembling, watching, waiting,

Arrayed in all their brilliant hues

Settled in the understanding

That in this passing all must do

There is no such thing as ending

Only falling into something new

Wonderful, Glorious Storms

A fresh wind is

Sweeping through

With the first rainfall

Of the season

Set aside those humid, muggy

Scorching summer days

Give me fresh

Invigorating

New breath in my lungs

Give me gusts

Gulps of rich sky

Winds that whip the wisps

Of hair around my head

In a free and wild

Heavenly halo

Bring the heavens to me

Bring me skies that sing

With voices clear and ringing

Bring me clouds clapping

Jubilant and joyful

Bring me torrents

Or only a trembling sprinkle

Of rain inviting

New life with every drop

Oh skies, oh wind

Oh wild rains

Sing to me

Keep singing

A wise woman once said...

      Poetry and prayer are synonymous in my life, and because both are a gift, which I accept with joy and sometimes pain, I seldom know whether I have served the gift well or ill. But perhaps that doesn't really matter; the important thing is to be willing- to want to serve the gift whenever it comes, either as verse or prayer.

~Madeleine L'Engle

The Weather of the Heart

Rainy Day Walks

How do I describe this kind of Joy?

To the old couple

Hanging their Christmas lights

With precision and care

Several days before Thanksgiving.

To the young father

With his two little boys,

Out flying a kite on this divinely windy day.

What will a little rain hurt?

To the middle aged man

Darting through the streets on his bike

Who takes a rest here and there

While his dog does the heavy lifting.

To walks on a windy day

That turn into a joyous celebration

Of downpours, of windstorms,

Of the prickling cold

That makes every inch of you

Feel so alive.

Oh, the Joy!