“ Gratitude is the inward feeling of kindness received.
Thankfulness is the natural impulse to express that feeling.
Thanksgiving is the following of that impulse.” ~ Henry Van Dyke
Today I am thankful it is November,
my favorite month of autumn,
my birthday month.
I was only one week old for my first Thanksgiving
not declared our official holiday until I was one!
Seventy-one Novembers string out behind
like fence posts or street lights
or white lines in the middle of a Texas highway.
Looking back I can see only so far,
then the fading distance
brings blurred markers of where I have been.
Feelings, impulses, followings
tumble around in kaleidoscopic color.
I was grateful in all those Novembers,
offered thanksgiving in most.
I take joy in this November,
I celebrate now.
Today, I give thanks for…
changing seasons of weather and life
learning both to let go and hold on
green leaves brushed with burnish
the fragrance of basil on my hands
as I gather seed
Grace and Mercy following me all the days of my life
Vision – the cornea donors who helped me see again
lingering echoes of my granddaughters’ laughter
red crepe myrtle leaves
gold and scarlet Chinese tallow trees
patience for waiting
our Meyer lemon tree harvest
singing songs of Christmas
poetry of Luci Shaw and Ruth Bell Graham
waking to sounds of Joe making coffee
the smell of burning cinnamon sticks in the chiminea
truth in a pumpkin poem – “hollowed out but shining”
morning music that sings “Come to the Quiet.”
simplicity in the chaos all around me
light and shadow
a curtain of moonflowers at my kitchen window
planting baby kale and cauliflower
mockingbirds on the fence
clock chimes, church bells
“paying attention, being astonished, and telling about it” (Mary Oliver)
Jan Karon’s recipe for roasting Rosemary and Honey onions
Holding the hands of those who have gone before (remembering Mother)
stitches of love in a crocheted afghan
my Forever Friend, Joe
Seeds from our own pomegranates
books that are old friends
a stay at home day
my beloved sons
and my daughters who are my son’s wives
granddaughters, my delight
a garden to tend
Kristin’s piano playing
love that will not let me go
Joe’s courage in spite of pain
cooking, my kitchen therapy
“the love which from our birth over and around us lies.” (J Rutter)