The gift

I actually had to write this before I could get to the end of it.  It's amazing to me what putting words on a page will do.

The gift of Thanksgiving this year

Will be making sure

The vegan

Possibly fasting

Ethiopian woman

Will know herself

Utterly and completely included.

But

No.

The gift of Thanksgiving this year

Will be the presence

Of every single person

Around the table

No matter what

Each one of us

Can eat.

Winter visitor

It*s time for Daylight Savings Time to take a vacation, like snowbirds, south.  The extra hour of light arrives Sunday morning.  I have made up the guest room with fresh sheets.

I am glad

For the extra hour of light.

She arrives

Sunday morning

A winter visitor

Welcome  

As warm-baked cinnamon rolls

Hot coffee

Cat rumbles solid

On the lap;

A winter visitor

Embraced at the door

Shown in

From the dark and cold

Coat hung in the closet

Boots by the door;

A winter visitor

Invited to stay

Til spring.

Sans microwave

No matter how much we prepare for a guest*s arrival, no matter how much we prepare for everything to be perfect, unplanned things happen.  Actually I am grateful it*s just the microwave so far.  I well remember counseling couples before they got married.  The things that go wrong, I used to say, are where memories are made.  I used to be so wise.  Of course some things are more funny, more memorable, in retrospect.

And now

Every surface has been cleared

And cleaned;

The cat box emptied,

Filled with new litter;

The room is ready

For occupancy.

The car is cleared

For luggage from the airport.

The snow has melted.

The sun shines.

But now

The microwave is dead,

I tell you,

Dead.

Under warranty, yes,

But still

Dead.

The cat sleeps anyway.

I plan dinner for our guest

From Paris.

We will live sans microwave.

People did it for years.

The snow has melted.

The sun shines.

Our guest will arrive

Microwave

Or not.

We don*t eat the guests

In my counseling internship at Heartland, a small town/rural agency, I remember one of my first staff discussions involved the pleasures of hunting doves.  Here is a shout-out to Michael, my professor and founder of Heartland and hunter of doves... I am glad to hear you are entertaining grouse as guests in Montana.

The squirrels have worn a path

In the snow

In the backyard.

The path loops toward the back gate.

The ducks waddle

Across the way.

I wait for the cardinals to show

In the hedge.

Far away in Montana

My professor entertains grouse

In his snowy yard.

He calls them guests.

Four years ago I remember

Extensive conversation

Around hunting doves,

The pleasures,

The flavor.

I am glad his yard

Entertains grouse  

As guests.

It is hunting season but still:

Guests are guests.

We don*t eat the guests.

We simply enjoy

Their presence.