I am struck by the passing of time today. Like a nudge to the shoulder, I am reminded that tomorrow is the Sixth Thanksgiving.
Time without you is marked only by holidays now. But Christmas, in its wonderful jingle-jangliness, is a big, colorful distraction. I thank the Holly King for that.
Thanksgiving. It, more than any other holiday, was You.
I have been a vagabond ever since, wandering from place to place, plate to plate, rootless.