then, 4 days ago, she stopped coming around.
we scanned the woods for her cream-colored silhouette; we watched the stump of a large, dead tree that had become her throne, where she would bask in the sun and bathe herself; we consistently eyed the corner of the house, expecting her to slink around the corner at any moment, plop herself down, and wait patiently for her meal; we monitored the back door, turning toward it with so much frequency our necks started to hurt, hoping to see her face pressed up against the glass…
nothing.
our hearts, heavy, surprised at how much we missed our little visitor. there have been a lot of hawks around lately. vultures, too. and let's not forget cars.
we feared the worst.
then, thanksgiving eve.
out of habit, i turned toward the glass door, now coming to expect a backyard devoid of furry animal friends, but too set in my new ritual of hope not to look…and there she was. like a ghost. silent, her face pressed against the transparent barrier; patient, as if saying, "no, no…don't get up. finish what you're doing. i can wait."
so today i'm thankful that our "unofficially adopted outdoor pet" is safe, and has resumed her daily routine at "restau de le dugfresh."
i'm thankful for God and for the seemingly impossible likelihood that He continues to love a sinner like me.
i'm thankful for my family, and for our health.
i'm thankful that i have a job, and can still pay (mostly) all the bills.
and i'm thankful for birds. and flying squirrels. and cats and dogs and dragonflies and caterpillars. racoons, foxes, coyotes, and possums, bats, mayflies, assassin bugs, northern water snakes, deer, boxelders, towering oak trees, ferns, rain…for nature and this wonderfully complex and bewilderingly beautiful planet that circles the sun at just the right distance away.
happy thanksgiving, readers. (although it's only