My Thanksgiving Wish

It’s the wee hours of the morning, and the gray sky has given way to the full moon. The Great Horned Owl calls out long and low, his deep-throated hoots bumping up against the trees and coming back around to him. Upstairs, in the warmth of my room, I stand at the window and listen as my slice of paradise sings to me the songs that are now familiar, comfortable. I watch as the clouds part, the moon painting my small earthly canvas with the colors of the illuminated night. Below my window, the nasturtiums shiver in the cold and I make a note to rescue their seeds, tuck them into a safe place for the winter; always with the hope of a tomorrow. Without much thought we perform seasonal rituals; tuck away seeds for the spring as we pull out the boots and heavy jackets we stored away when the bleak winter gave way to the warmth of the sun. It all comes back around, but only for a time.

Time. I have now been blessed by thirty-six full moons since I arrived on my island. During the waxing and waning of the Wolf Moon of January through the Cold Moon of December, this once city girl has learned to haul trees across the property, and how to set a pile of that same debris aflame with a propane blow torch. I’ve fought my way through stinging nettles as tall as I stand, and cobwebs spanning a dozen feet from tree-to-tree. I’ve sawed through downed tree trunks to get out of the driveway; run a good thirty miles from imaginary predators and the not so imaginary buzzing of hives unseen. I have knelt under the majesty of my giant cedars, swept the hem of their cloaks; sought shelter under their majestic limbs from a sudden, drenching, downpour; more alive than ever. I’ve moved rocks from here to there until their numbers and placements seemed more alien directives than landscape motif.

Daily, I have witnessed the wildlife move through the seasons to their innate circadian rhythm, yearlings turning to buck and doe, bunnies the size of my hand one minute, are in the next full-fledged rabbits munching dandelion greens that cover the field. The memory of a pair of Bald Eagles gracing me with a fly by one summer’s day, still snatches up my breath and reminds me who really owns these woods.

But perhaps the brightest and most unexpected gift of all was the community that welcomed me with opened arms into the fold. The friends I’ve made in my little town offered me a new found garden of joy. But like the nasturtium seeds I tuck away to plant come spring, I keep my old friends tucked close too; savor the memory of our heirloom friendships; look forward to the blossoming of shared tomorrows once again.

So on a magical night such as this, standing at my window and gazing upon the Little Dipper, I still go so far as to wish upon a star. But what do you wish for when your dream has come true? Why, I make a wish for you, dear reader. Star light, star bright…May this Thanksgiving find you blessed by the love of family and friends; may you find a bountiful feast on your table, and peace in your heart.

Photo Credit

Photo by Michaelene McElroy – All Rights Reserved

First Published at Greetings From Coupeville

Guest Author Bio

Michaelene McElroy
Michaelene McElroy is the author of “The Last Supper Catering Company”. At this time, she lives in the woods on an island in the Pacific Northwest where magic is ever present.

Blog / Website: www.michaelenemcelroy.com

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