Will we soon be able to give thanks for peace?

Early this morning, the dogs and I saw a beautiful crescent moon almost cradling Venus in the predawn eastern sky. It was beautiful enough to make it worthwhile to be up and out at that hour walking the dogs. Perhaps an even bigger surprise was that the sky was finally clear enough to see the moon and Venus and the stars. Even the wind had a temporary lull in its howling. A rare moment of peace in our corner of the world. Would that others could share moments like that for even longer periods.

Tamaracks have turned golden. Many have shed half or more of their needles. Our local swamps, bogs and wet lands are looking somewhat shorn and forlorn but ice free so far. The local big box grocery store already has Christmas greenery for sale. (They might have had it on display before today but I’ve not been there for a week or more.) Thanksgiving is two weeks from today so the greenery is almost in season. Not only have I not started Christmas shopping, I’ve barely begun a Christmas list for me.

may all enjoy the peace of Nature

Photo by J. Harrington

Looking ahead, one of my wishes for the season, and a great reason to get a jump on the season, is for peace on earth, good will toward men, especially in the region where Christ walked the earth, and anywhere else ravaged these days by war or hatred. Although we’re still in the phase where days get shorter, may those with good will hope for a solstice that brings not only longer, but truly brighter days for all. That would obviously be something for which men of good will would give thanks. That’s how we can tell if they’re men of good will.

Perhaps the World Ends Here

Joy Harjo     1951 – 

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

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