Thanks

by Lillith

Can you smell the turkey? I know I can. I smell her brown-sugar skin as I stand alone on the driveway.
My feet are bare, and the concrete is warm like summer breeze on my soles. I can smell all the spices and berries from the neighborhood homes wafting.
The thanks are soft on my tongue as I write them down upon small scraps of paper.
The black ink smears when I write your name. I think it's a tear, but I can't tell, my eyes are too blurry.
I let the paper fall to the ground as I pick up another to write some more thanks down.

I think, "No one will ever see them, but that's not what matters."

I eventually collect up enough papers to make a small heap on the ground. I pick them all up and hold my damp finger up to the sky to see where the breeze is falling at dusk. It's blowing west, toward the sunset. I turn toward the orange glow and toss all the shreds up into the air. They all catch the air and fly down the street over the homes. Except one.

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Thank you, everyone on this site who reads this. Happy Thanksgiving all, think about what you are greatful for this autumn, and remember what amazing things you have in the midst of all your troubles.