A Poem For Thanksgiving

I’m wanting to take a moment to acknowledge you, my readers, for following along on my journey with me. I know each of you has busy lives with many things going on at any given moment and that it’s not always easy to make time to read. There is much I am grateful for this Thanksgiving, including all of you. I hope you can be with loved ones this holiday and that you can find something to be joyful for each day. 

I am thankful for the amber leaves that cling to the gray branches of the beech, and for the cheerful wren who hops along the stone wall, always reminding me that joy is just a song away.

I smile when I see leaves being blown across the ground, running and twirling wildly, like children on the playground, anxious to enjoy the moment. Those leaves house a multitude of animals that I know I won’t see again until spring– the wood frog, blue ghost larvae, and the red-spotted salamander. Silently they will sleep out the winter, a whole community of earthlings too small for most humans to consider. 

I gasp in awe when the cardinal alights on the branch by the feeder, a spot of bright red among the browns and greens of this season. I can count on him and his mate to be the first to my feeder in the morning, and the last before darkness settles over the forest. They teach me about the value of friendship, of showing up for each other, of being present together whatever the weather. 

I feel delight when I see the purple finch balanced on a black-eyed Susan stem, picking open the seed head, finding the treasure within. This is why I don’t join the crowd and “put my garden to bed” when winter is knocking. I love this gift I can offer to my feathered friends. 

I love to watch the handsome towhee flipping through the leaves under the forsythia, his black, white and rufous feathers a sight to behold. He teaches me to never give up and that it’s worth it to continue searching, even if sometimes you’re not quite sure what you’re looking for. 

I am grateful for the tall oaks whose trunks reach high into the sky, their mostly-naked branches creating artful designs with their black silhouettes against the cloud-filled sky. I smile, thinking of their intertwined roots deep in the ground, knowing they share water and resources, that they help support each other when the winds blow and the snow falls. Like the gentle honey bees who gather in their hive, huddling together to keep each other warm, the trees too rely on their neighbors. This makes me smile.

I see a pair of bluebirds out in the clearing by my window, house hunting, each one checking out the boxes we placed there for them, going in and out, looking around, as if to consider how to decorate. Their soft voices make me sit up and take notice, make me happy that I can give them what they need, that they can share this place I call home. 

I admire the tiny kinglet that hops around in the branches of the azalea, finding insects too small to see. He reminds me that size is less important than determination and persistence. I also admire the gray squirrels that never seem to stop looking for and burying nuts. When everything else is still I can find them racing noisily after each other, up and down, and around the tree trunks, over the cold ground, exploding with energy. They remind me that play keeps us young. 

Recently as dusk was nearing, I looked up to catch a flock of goldfinches, lit by the setting sun like flecks of gold dust. In a tight bunch they skimmed through the blue sky, then disappeared, here one moment, then gone then next. They teach me how fleeting life can be, how important it is to savor every moment.

I am grateful for the ever-present chickadee, coming to check the feeder on my window, over and over, again and again, wondering if this will be the time that it will be filled with sunflower seeds. They too teach me about determination and hope. 

Another smile as I look beside me at my tabby cat, Hobbes, snuggled in a tight curl on my desktop, inches away, asleep and softly snoring. He is my little shadow, always needing to be close, like his namesake, Calvin’s best friend. He teaches me about contentment, about finding joy in the simple things like a spot of sunlight on the carpet or a willing human to take you on a walk, or being close to someone you love, simply sharing space.

Distractions out the window always joyfully distract. My heart soars when I see the sunlight streaming through the forest, highlighting old spider silk strung in the trees, far better than tinsel on a holiday tree. The blanket of fog is lifting! I drop everything to step outside, knowing this is what will feed my soul. This is where I can find peace.