By Gala
Date: 2 November 2000
Giving Thanks On The Ridge
The snug house on the Ridge
was built for escape.
No Phones...
you looked at me like I was nuts
when I said that.
But I told my family
that we would be with yours,
and you told yours
that we would be with mine,
and instead we stole away
to a place where the sky
meets the mountain
where the clouds kiss the ground,
and we planned a modest feast
turkey...sage stuffing
the smell filling the space
corn pudding you prepare
with care---
while I slice tips off of beans,
sliver almonds,
and cover over sweet potato pie
with marshmallows.
The stove would never allow
full trimmings,
but it's not the food---
not even the place,
dear though it is to my heart.
It is you---
you I will give thanks for,
head bowed,
holding your hands tight
and thanking god
for every moment
great and small
and gift of your steadfast love.
You build another fire,
applewood logs to perfume the air
and offer me mulled russian tea
and your kiss for benediction.
It is quiet now,
and I lean against your chest and shoulders
and watch the flames burn blue
while night steals into the mountains again,
and the moon rises above the ridge.
There are times that are priceless
when words mean nothing---
just sounds.
But the hearts speak their own tongue,
and mine close to yours
has learned to pray.
Giving thanks on the Ridge.
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