Thanksgiving

           The Blue Ridge Mountains offered us another perfect late fall day.  The trees had lost their summer wardrobe and left it upon the forest floor where it filled the air with the smell of it's winter decay.  We were soon looking for a likely place to pitch the tent.

           Campgrounds and parks were closed for the winter, but not needing any amenities, just a spot amongst the trees, we snuggled in with the barren branches canalling the blue sky and the trees fall glory coat creating a foot thick mattress for our bed and Mog standing guard not far off.

           It so happened that a few days prior I had stopped at a store to buy a chicken and it was time to fry it up for my Thanksgiving meal.  Unfortunately the few days sitting in the car proved nearly fatal for the hen.  The slime coating the meat was getting thick' and, its edibility became questionable.  But it was Thanksgiving!  So, washing the chicken thoroughly, I sacrificed it to my Thanksgiving hunger.

           Frying chicken and cooking corn permeated the woods.  The primitive nature of this aged rite stirred my loneliness for the first time

           It was a nostalgic time, my family and friends back home.  a time for quiet thought and introspection and thankfulness for the riches of life itself.  And as I put my head down, pillowed on the soft leaves, a  happiness welled up and I slept amongst the sleeping trees secure in the love of others.