Day 330

The little fiery tree outside my art room at school.

The meadow must have been surprised to feel my slow footsteps this grey morning followed by the black dog.  I gave myself a break, had no desire to run today.  Everything bright-wet and dripping from the overnight rain.

For the fifth year we attend Thanksgiven, an after-Thanksgiving celebration at the home of friends in Natick, where they make another whole Thanksgiving meal for their friends, having had it with family the day before!

Most of these people we only see this one day of the year, they are mostly neighbours of the host family.  So it is quite strange, because there are these people with whom you have fairly interesting and intimate conversations, but only on an annual basis.

The adults all look more or less the same each year, but of course, although we are consistently amazed by childrens' growth, all the little bodies have stretched a few inches, their faces lengthened, their abilities become more.  Like the little boy who dashed around like a crazy person a few years ago, but today sits straight-backed and proudly at the piano, playing Beatles songs, one after the other, a small group of adults surrounding him, singing, "We all live in a yellow submarine....."  The little girls we began with are now long-legged delicate beauties, skittish as deer. And those two babies from a few years back are now dear little girls, darling quaint characters reminding me of my own daughters such a long time ago now.

And at last we leave, my mouth tired from smiling so much, Tim's camera full of sweet photographs of the occasion, email addresses and blog-spots written on drawing paper with crayons, tucked away in my pocket, and then the long dark drive home through the cold night, a huge orange gibbous moon rising slowly into the sky, showing up on the horizon every time we find ourselves on a rise, then disappearing again and, a few minutes later, re-appearing unexpectedly to the left or right of its original showing, because, inadvertently and unobtrusively, the ribbon of road has shifted direction under the speeding wheels of our little car.

I was supposed to take an apple pie, but discovered that all the teenagers had eaten my apples two nights ago, and so instead I made more flowers.  Matthew made the largish one in the middle, which you can't really see properly, but he told me that I could not take credit for that one, which is why I am mentioning it.