I poured myself a glass of last night’s leftover wine and admired my rose garden, still blooming this far into fall.
It’s dusk. There’s still a little bit of light out, but it’s a heavy sort, like maybe rain is on the horizon. Still, it has a certain beauty, a feeling of change that’s in the air and I can’t quite figure out if it’s the weather or me.
I finally decide it’s me, and suddenly the little spotlight on the Blessed Virgin that sits in a corner of my patio turns on. A little beacon in my garden, and tonight, a little more, as I fancy the Blessed Mother nodding and winking at me from her little perch in the monkey grass.
I can’t help smiling. She knows my heart and the gazillion thoughts that were just swirling around my head, replaced now with a kind of happy calm settling the swirl. I nod back, thanking her for the little visit.
It’s been a wonderful Thanksgiving, quiet and uneventful, a contrast to other years, and I’ve appreciated every moment of it for the gift of the present, and our presence. Oddly for me, I’ve reveled in the mundane tasks of setting tables and doing dishes. No doubt the leftovers tonight, alone with my husband, will taste as rich.