People are wearing red as they circle the butte. I am wearing red, too, I realize.
The sky is blue, cars are moving and making noises in the wind, the wind is small and the sun is strong.
It is crisp out and I am sitting on the curb in a blacktop parking lot. It is Thanksgiving day.

I am musing and reflecting. My heart is full- or rather, it is moving, filling and emptying with thanks and affection, with care. This brings it a warm and enlivening feeling, an engorging like the clit gets when it is swelling, although this one is higher in the body and more pervasive, expanding. No less pulsing.

This one reaches out to the trees and the invisible sunshine I feel. It curves the upsides of my lips. It makes me soft and quiet. My eyes turn gentle and my whole body relaxes. I am breathing and loose.

On this day of thanksgiving, I am thankful for thanks: for the role it has in our moments, threading through our lives, the way it opens and reopens our hearts. The way it softens and presents us, makes us present, gives us an avenue to see ourselves, each other, this living as gifts, as the possibility of giving.