Reflections

I just found this poem for the first time the other day.  I like it because it is not an easy poem, it is an invitation to that fully human journey of holding both blessing and curse.  Offering gratitude when life is going well is fairly simple.  Giving thanks in the midst of uncertainty, sorrow, or suffering is another story entirely. Thanksgiving Blessings!   Listen with the night falling we are saying thank you we are stopping on the bridge to bow from the railings we are running out of the glass rooms with our mouths full of food to look at the sky and

Thanksgiving I have been trying to read the script cut in these hills— a language carved in the shimmer of stubble and the solid lines of soil, spoken in the thud of apples falling and the rasp of corn stalks finally bare. The pheasants shout it with a rusty creak as they gather in the fallen grain, the blackbirds sing it over their shoulders in parting, and gold leaf illuminates the manuscript where it is written in the trees. Transcribed onto my human tongue I believe it might sound like a lullaby, or the simplest grace at table. Across the