A different kind of day

Through a series of unusual though thankfully not terribly unfortunate events, both of my Thanks-
giving gatherings for today were re-scheduled. Plumbing that suddenly decided to get contrary at one home and some travel difficulties with the hosts' families at the second mean that my weekend will be busier, and I get to eat my own turkey today. My Thanksgiving will not be what Norman imagined, but it still makes me feel good.

The sky is the incredible blue that only seems to come in late Autumn. It's that perfect temperature outside for a long, leisurely walk, and it looks like the husband and I will head out to the farm to shuffle through the fallen leaves on the old wagon road. The traffic there had been so heavy in the late 19th and early 20th century that it's a mildly sunken path that still has more bare dirt than plant covering. Along either side are trees whose limbs reach across and form a light canopy. I can't walk its gently winding route without feeling connected to the people who have lived here for all the preceding generations. If we follow it several miles longer than I intend to walk, we will eventually pass the back of the cemetery where his grandparents and other older relatives are buried. If we continue farther, we will go past Indian mounds. Out in those green and golden woods, I feel solidly grounded, connected to the past, to the earth, to the stillness of all being, to my great and glorious God. It's a beautiful part of the greatest cathedral I know, and I can think of no better way to give thanks.

Thanksgiving, nature, art