Thanksgiving

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”

                                                             Marcel Proust

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I can be thankful for many things

Sometimes I forget this

I might wake up thinking of the corporate takeover of America

Of children caged,

And elderly neglected

And immigrants feared and rejected

I might think of people, homeless and hungry

Of families grieving

I might think of domestic terrorists and mass shooting

I might think of oligarchies,

And bullies in high places

Of rampant greed

Of hate and fear

Of lies and cruelties abounding

I might wake up remembering that right now, physically,

Everything hurts, and what doesn’t hurt doesn’t work

I can go negative in half a breath

But if I slowly take the rest of that breath

And look around

I see my home, which I love

I can look out the window and see Mt Joseph glowing in the morning sun

I can watch the sun rise over the Seven Devils

And see the clouds catch fire

I can hear the horses greet me as I go out of feed them

And I can get horse kisses for free

I can take a walk with happy dog

And trip over cats, insistent

And I can think of the people I love, and who love me

People near at hand, who this day will break bread

And gnaw turkey

And play cards at my table

And remember people far away, like my song and daughter and their families

Who are still a part of this moment

And people no longer here, my mother and father

So long gone

And yet, still lingering in my soul

I can think of all those people who been gardeners of my soul

And have made it, for all the weeds and barren places

Blossom

Thanksgiving