the promise of the deep yellow in my wine glass is a promise that i am most thankful for. it is just this side of dusk and the sky is blushing a deeper yellow blue.  i break a hop cone and am grateful for the bitter friendly aroma.  ripeness.  harvest.

paula strums springsteen behind me in the kitchen and i am thankful for her, for dogs and ponies and even for sadness.

my belly is full of fried scallops and i am content.  my girls are fully gone away and this feeling tells me how grateful i am for our time together.

out in the field, the cranberries are uniformly pink and are on their way to being fully red.  thanksgiving is just a few weeks away. i have come to appreciate these berries as they go through their cycle.

the mosquitoes swarm me tonite but are not biting, and i am glad for this.

here in the maritimes, each year there is a day in late august or early september when the air has become crisp, and shimmers with clarity.  that day was today.  everything stood in sharp contrast to every other thing,  vying for its moment.  riding my bicycle, out of shape and loving the experience for the feeling of visual intensity, this is the first time in all my years out east that i have not felt dismay, but felt somehow reassured by the change of the seasons.