Thursday, November 15, 2018

Thursday Poem - Thanksgiving

I have been trying to read
the script cut in these hills—
a language carved in the shimmer of stubble
and the solid lines of soil, spoken
in the thud of apples falling
and the rasp of corn stalks finally bare.
The pheasants shout it with a rusty creak
as they gather in the fallen grain,
the blackbirds sing it
over their shoulders in parting,
and gold leaf illuminates the manuscript
where it is written in the trees.
Transcribed onto my human tongue
I believe it might sound like a lullaby,
or the simplest grace at table.
Across the gathering stillness
simply this: “For all that we have received,
dear God, make us truly grateful.”

Lynn Ungar (from Blessing the Bread)

3 comments:

Tabor said...

Being grateful, but also wondering why there is so much suffering.

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

yes, my words
can not imagine that in October
they thought I was ended
God is Good
I am so thankful
even though a long way to go.

Lilian Nattel said...

That's an amazing photo. Thank you for always bringing beauty into my life.