the art of Thanksgiving








I love this time of year.

The leaves, finally changing colors,

form day’s light

each with unique and separate detail.

“Look at me,” they chorus, and I do.

For they, like the dancer on the stage, have waited patiently

for this moment to be beheld, to enchant.

The trees herald

Fall’s arrival, wafting its relief from our long, hard summer

and we in return celebrate her by spending long days outdoors, adventuring

and nights, snuggling


at times with a cup of hot chocolate, others in our warm beds.

It is the season for thanksgiving,

the time when we memorialize Beauty and Goodness and the ways they touch our lives,

even as we’re busy worrying and consuming Want.

But not today.

Today, we gather and break bread together,

offering our thanksgiving like children tossing leaves to the sky,

giddy at the never-ending.


Because we’re always away from home over Christmas, each year we spend Thanksgiving at home, enjoying Mark’s break from work and our own from schoolwork, and of course, spending time with our friends and family in town. This year, the weather was warm enough we moved our table outdoors and feasted in our backyard. And I do mean feasted. Attempting to take advantage of our fantastic weather, Mark and I had wanted to try camping over Thanksgiving. Of course everything was full. So as a second resort, we set up a tent to camp with the kids in the backyard on Friday night. It turned out to be the coldest night of the year thus far. Naturally. We enjoyed our little adventure — especially the kids. And I admit, it was wonderful to be able to pop inside early Saturday morning to enjoy some warm coffee and eggnog together. It’s a start anyway. Here’s some photos from the weekend.