In this week of giving thanks, it’s hard for me to know where to even start counting the myriad of blessings, the embarrassment of riches in my life~my lovely and expanding family, my dear friends who are also family, my animal companions, good health, good wine, the incredible wealth of locally grown food, my house, my city, the abundance of creature comforts I am lucky enough to enjoy. It goes on and on and on.
I also have deep gratitude for my community of writers and readers, those who share my love of stories and books.
Here is a poem by one of my favorite poets about one of my favorite things:
BECAUSE OF LIBRARIES WE CAN SAY THESE THINGS
She is holding the book close to her body,
carrying it home on the cracked sidewalk,
down the tangled hill.
If a dog runs at her again, she will use the book as a shield.
She looked hard among the long lines
of books to find this one.
When they start talking about money,
when the day contains such long and hot places,
she will go inside.
An orange bed is waiting.
Story without corners.
She will have two families.
They will eat at different hours.
She is carrying a book past the fire station
and the five and dime.
What this town has not given her
the book will provide; a sheep,
a wilderness of new solutions.
The book has already lived through its troubles.
The book has a calm cover, a straight spine.
When the step returns to itself,
as the best place for sitting,
and the old men up and down the street
are latching their clippers,
she will not be alone.
She will have a book to open
and open and open.
Her life starts here.
-- Naomi Shihab Nye
Take Good Care,