For the tender way the light caresses the tops of the hills, I give thanks.
And for the way my lover looks at me now and then.
For the way the owl thumps down hard on the roof in the middle of the night
and the way my heart awakens, I give thanks.
For the way something shatters inside when suffering explodes in the world
and for the kind smile of the harried supermarket checker,
For the taste of carrot cake and warm coffee
and the feeling I get when long shadows are cast on my fireplace,
and for the sadness that wells up in me at another's pain
that tells me I remember how to feel,
I give thanks.
And for life continuing, even when the journey gets gritty
and the lame walk
and the hopeless remember the name of truth
and the hills sing a distant song
that sounds like thanksgiving.