In The Kentucky Hills, A Thanksgiving
Thoughts.
How are they measured?
they are neither tangible nor visible, and yet we experience the potency of them in the very throws of inconsolable moments both positive and negative- an all together analeptic to the senses. They define our choices and carve our personalities shaping the very lives we live. They are neither molecular nor atomic but none the less spectacular and for those of us with souls so deep, the very basis of humanity could very well loose their way in our mazes, well… for us there is no vernacular to wield should we ever allow them to over take us.
On this Eve of Thanksgiving I have miraculously happened upon a few hours of alone time which allowed me to breath in all that is new and all together old. I can’t even fathom that in four months we will have been in this new place so far from our old home for a year. I haven’t even fully recovered from the trauma of driving my animals across the country and getting every one here in one piece. But truth be told, even on very fleeting moment where I encounter my husband building the first of our fires in the old stove left here and refinished by his own hands… I feel the glint of gratefulness. It may be fleeting in the all of the thoughts and emotions belonging to someone like me- someone who cares so deeply about all of the things here and with perhaps, admitably, too strong of an attachment to outcome. Oh but I feel the gratefullness.
Thank you Lord for :
Fire that melts the frost from our bones. For the winter holding out longer than any in this place has ever seen. Allowing this bewildering pause that allowed us to fortify our animals in preparation.
For the strength required of me to raise this child who for whatever reason, was born with the streak that makes prayers out of sinners. For the courage to keep attempting to hand over my worries to the only one who can carry my burdens.
For the beauty of this place. Allowing it to be ours. Allowing us day after day to bare witness to this creation.
