We discovered a spear point and the potsherd under a sheltering wall of rock that someone called home centuries ago.
An archaeologist’s expert hand peeled back layers of soil to reveal a fire-blackened circle of stones, charcoal and fragments of bones.
Who gathered the stones together and sat by this fire?
Whoever it was isn’t so different from us. Our hands build a circle of stones, our minds and hearts bear the same struggles and triumphs, joy and sorrow, pain and comfort.
Our lives form circles, the roots and branches of trees, from river to ocean to cloud to river….
Our Thanksgiving circle , memories of friends and family, of ancestors long past, of any eye that turned skyward and marveled, the 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 build, every meal we share, every tear, every smile forms a circle of thanks.
Happy Thanksgiving Day.