Thanksgiving will be warm again. As I write this the hot midday sun, yellow and insistent, streams through my window. The weather report says tomorrow will be even warmer, ushered in on wind and rain later this afternoon, although the sun is so bright right now it’s hard to imagine it’s going to rain in just an hour. Thanksgiving, in two days’ time, will be a little more seasonal, but still warm enough that I’ll cut kale, still growing in the garden.

The sun still so warm
I leave my sweater inside
When picking fresh greens

I’ve always felt vaguely cheated when it doesn’t snow for Thanksgiving because of the song promising me that the horse knew the way over the bright and drifted snow. Of course, there was also no mysterious grandmother’s house in some mythical wood, and YiaYia took the train, not a carriage, and she, and we, lived in an apartment not a house, and no one was singing New England folksongs, or indeed speaking English. But that was the American mythos that we learned in school: that Thanksgiving is for everyone, and an immigrant family like mine not least of all, because here we escaped the war and the prejudice and the poverty of the old country. Here we were separated only by a hyphen—Greek-American, Irish-American, Chinese-American—but always and as one, American.

E pluribus unum
Latin to describe
That we are all one.
At least
that’s what they told us.

Not quite on prompt, for Haibun Monday 11/26/19

One thought on “Thanksgiving weather

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