When we found the spear point and the potsherd under a sheltering wall of rock the dig began.
An archaeologist’s expert hand uncovered the story.
A fire-blackened circle of stones, charcoal, fragments of bones.
A dozen centuries ago our unmet friends sat around these stones sharing food, warming themselves against the cold.
Our hands have built the same circles. Our bodies warmed by the same heat. Our minds and hearts share the same joys and sorrows.
Friends and family, ancestors long past, all the faces that ever turned skyward in marvel and reverence for life, for food, for someone to share it with, for someone to carry it on.
May we be mindful that every fire we kindle and every meal we share forms a circle of thanks.
Happy Thanksgiving Day