Thanksgiving

Where I come from, we didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. Were we ungrateful or did we have nothing to be grateful about? I don’t know. Maybe we needed something big to remember, something substantial, something with a wow factor in it.

Yesterday I was walking home after spending some time with Marco and his family. I had spent the greater part of the afternoon playing in the autumn leaves with his daughter. We had not planned anything special for that day, not even dinner, just a few hours walking in the sun, being together. Thanksgiving had more to do with a nice long weekend than gratefulness.

However, as I stepped out on the sidewalk heading home, after sharing a nice glass of red wine, I suddenly remembered that it was Thanksgiving. I had seen an old lady earlier being picked up by her daughter; she was carrying a plate of goodies. I assumed she had been invited for dinner. It wasn’t dark yet but there was no longer light except for the yellow glow of the street lamps. I could feel the coolness on my skin, my nose was cold. The moon had risen, it wasn’t quite full but it was bright against the midnight blue of the sky. Lazy clouds were passing the moon pushed by a soft breeze. The ground was covered with dried leaves which crackled under the steps. Winter was coming. Somewhere nearby, someone was burning wood; the scent in the air was soothing. It was a beautiful night. And I had spent a wonderful day. And this was good enough a reason to be grateful.