The house is quiet -- the extra beds empty, the dishes washed, the platters put away, the candles burned down -- family on the road back home.My nose gets a fourth and fifth helping of a pear apricot torte every time I open the fridge. The lone remaining pumpkin pie is being eaten inside out. We slowly scrape away at it on the counter, one bite at a time, all sharing the same fork.
Conversations evaporate above the dining table; the feeling of Thanksgiving now only an echo. Thursday afternoon and evening, when 32 of us gathered here for feasting*, I couldn't help but go around the table, adding each person to my list of blessings.
*And Turkey BINGO with prizes and guitar by Rog and philosophy lessons and baby holding and piano playing and picture taking.
No comments:
Post a Comment