I Give Thanks

It is quiet in the woods this afternoon. A cloudy day, restful and at peace.

A great horned owl hoots a mournful call from a hidden perch in the trees above me. Another responds, further away. Does the grey day suit their mood? It is not dusk yet, but maybe they are preparing for their night of hunting? The smaller birds go silent, hoping not to be noticed perhaps, and to escape the owls’ sharp eyes. Then they forget and resume their chatting. A nuthatch makes an indignant tweet-tweet-tweet, and climbs a tree trunk. A red-bellied woodpecker taps and taps again, tap-tap-tap, finding snacks under the bark.

The trees are mostly bare now, save a splash of yellow here and there; a small maple waves with delicate crimson leaves, as if to call attention to itself. Look at me! The sun is low; late-season light slants to the forest floor. A chipmunk disappears into a hollow log. A thick carpet of curled dry leaves rustles underfoot. Where the wind has blown them into heaps, my dogs roll in them, on their backs, paws in the air. What joy, to sink deep into the crackling browns and yellows. They stand and shake themselves, and come back smiling, dry scraps still stuck in their fur. My children too, when they were small (how long ago?) used to dig into the piles I had raked, and to cover each other, up to their necks in leaves.

The world prepares for the night of winter. It is almost bedtime. One more romp, one more splash of beauty, one more bird call. The world is tired, and ready to rest.

In the morning of the next year, Spring will burst forth, shake the sleep from its eyes. Like so much confetti, ot will toss around a profusion of flowers and little green buds. My dogs will roll in the last patches of snow, and shiver their pleasure.

These are not easy times. But I give thanks to every bit of beauty and of joy. It would be an insult, not to notice the joy and the beauty

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