I spent the last days thinking of what I wanted to write for a Thanksgiving post. I realized that this entire blog is a Thanksgiving, and has been since Day One some five years ago when I began it.
I give my thanks internally on a daily basis. When it snows, which it did this past week, I thank the old barn, the mistress of the farm who hides her occupants in her internal corners, free from wind and water from clouds. Each night I do feedings, I am greeted by three sets of ear tips, some quiet brays and rustling of loose hay above me in a loft no longer used. The smell of the barn and her gentle moanings in a light wind are comforting, the same feeling I had as a child hiding in my sumac fort, protected from the wind, but able to feel it in drafts.
I live my life here with the same heart as I had long ago as that young girl in a sumac fort. I'm older now, with more animals, and I can retreat to the barn to stay dry. Even back then as a child, I knew this barn was somewhere, waiting for me. I am rich because of that.
