thanksgiving

Before She shuts down shop for the winter, the Earth bestows upon us one of Her hugest prizes - the pumpkin. This thing grows so large and at such a sparse time of year I always look twice when I see its heavy orange bottom rocking on the baked ground; like a ruddy newborn, having emerged from a small opening, kicking it’s legs in the air and saying “Told you so!” .

Today I, like many others, am making pumpkin pie. I catch the blue mist over terra cotta skin in between the blades, slide the peeler over its curvature and the flesh begins to sweat. In the morning sunlight a wedge of this could light up a life.

I always liked this no frills festival. There is no canned music in shops whispering ‘My product will absorb all your loneliness’ to the tune of Jingle Bells, no guilt-laced tinsel at the edge of your vision starting two months beforehand, no fairy-lit high streets draining the earth’s resources and beckoning you to spend, spend, spend…..

No, rather than steal from the Earth, there is a meal shared, a holiday taken, and a grand giving of thanks for Her bountiful gifts. Religious it may not be but spiritual it certainly is.

So today I give thanks also, to the Earth. I give thanks for an oak leaf etched against a sky of birdsong, for a lemon chiffon poplar, for the morning frosting on a ploughed field and for the trees slowly and flirtatiously letting slip their autumn velvets to proudly stand nude in the wind. I give thanks for Her bounty and Her courage, and I give thanks to Her for waking me up every day to love.