At this time, in this place

Even in darkness, there is light. And this is not so much darkness of the pitch black, starless variety, as greyness and gloom, where the light struggles, the rain falls, and it is easy to feel nothing because all of your senses are exhausted from the strain.

At this time, and in this place, I give thanks. For my parents who raised me, and the extended family who ensured an only child was not alone.

For true friends of many years and fewer years–for all that you are, for the love you have shown. For my husband, my partner, the closest I have ever come to understanding–truly understanding–another soul.

For the soft fur of a purring cat. For the sound of water falling. For words well chosen, beautiful or stark, legato or staccato, spoken or heard silently. For the symphony of a beautiful building, or the fugue of a monument to loss. And for the music itself, in all its forms, in joy and anger, sorrow and resignation, humour and biting wit, all of it, over many years and with many voices and instruments.

For the smell of warm cinnamon and spices, of wet leaves evoking red, orange, yellow and brown. For the play of light on clear water. For the most ancient of stones, and the story they tell. And for the stars, the timeless stars, each a tale of worlds existing only in my dreams.

These, I am thankful for, because in the days of deepening grey, they are my stars, and though there be clouds, I know they are there. Even when I cannot see them, even when they are just memories or images in my mind, they cannot be taken from me.

And for this, I give thanks, at this time, in this place.

Thanksgiving Day, 2018

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