It seems like every thanksgiving
is spent in memory of something. In part, isn’t that what it means to be thankful? I always rememeber thanksgivings since I was eye level to the table- the moment we all bow our heads and listen to the man of the house make his statements. Remembering the year as a whole, remembering the people that are no longer with us, remembering the hard times spent to piece everything together. To look up after that close-eyed darkness of our contemplation- personal and singular but all hand-in-hand - to look at the table. Our harvest, to defy the silence nod our heads and look what we have wrought.