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When we found the spear point and the potsherd under a sheltering wall of rock the dig began. A archeologist’s expert hand peeled back layers of time connecting us to those we never met but knew as we know ourselves.
Down below the soil of a millennium we found the fire-blackened circle of stones, the charcoal and fragments of bones. Someone sat here centuries ago warming themselves against the cold.
Our hands build the same circles, our bodies share the same heat, our minds and hearts 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 stretches wider than we know. Memories of friends and family, of ancestors long past, of any eye that 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 build, every meal we share, every tear, every smile forms a circle of thanks. How everything has changed and how little has changed.
Happy Thanksgiving Day
