Happy Thanksgiving eve

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving for many of us. After Santa arrives at the end of the Macy's parade, we can turn on our Christmas lights without causing the punishment of elves. I'm looking forward to spending Black Friday getting a Christmas tree in the morning (not the same as really shopping in my universe) and taking photos of the Taylors Falls holiday lighting that evening. In between, if I have time, I'll visit, for free, one of our local state parks. I don't know who in the Dayton administration actually came up with the idea of making access free this Friday, but I think it's brilliant. Thank you very, very much to whomever! I'm grateful to you and to REI for their #OptOutside initiative.

Something else I'm grateful for this year is that I now have proof positive that my photography skills are slowly improving. The first photo of a "full moon" was taken two years ago; the second one, last night. Even an old curmudgeon like me has to admit there's a noticeable difference. I hope 2016 brings a comparable improvement to my writing.

full moon -- November 2013

Photo by J. Harrington

full moon -- November 2015

Photo by J. Harrington

May Thanksgiving, and the year ahead, bring all of us peace and warmth and loving companions (two and four footed) plus the awareness that life, by its very nature, is a win-win proposition, not a zero-sum game.

In Harvest

By Sophie Jewett 

Mown meadows skirt the standing wheat;   

I linger, for the hay is sweet,

New-cut and curing in the sun.

Like furrows, straight, the windrows run,   

Fallen, gallant ranks that tossed and bent   

When, yesterday, the west wind went   

A-rioting through grass and grain.   

To-day no least breath stirs the plain;   

Only the hot air, quivering, yields   

Illusive motion to the fields

Where not the slenderest tassel swings.   

Across the wheat flash sky-blue wings;   

A goldfinch dangles from a tall,   

Full-flowered yellow mullein; all

The world seems turning blue and gold.   

Unstartled, since, even from of old,   

Beauty has brought keen sense of her,   

I feel the withering grasses stir;   

Along the edges of the wheat,

I hear the rustle of her feet:

And yet I know the whole sea lies,   

And half the earth, between our eyes. 

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