Reflection

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. I know this because my Christmas Cactus flowered. I don’t ask questions, I don’t wonder about the calendar, I simply accept that this is the time it flowers each year.

My refrigerator is full of items to make an antipasto platter to bring to my daughter’s home tomorrow. My version of the traditional Italian appetizer will include cherry tomatoes on the vine and cotton candy grapes and oversized, red strawberries because my grandchildren like them. My son is home from graduate school and when we sit down at the table tomorrow, my family will be under one roof. For that, I am thankful.

Joe and I walked our three dogs this morning at Brandywine Park. I breathed fresh air, moved my body, observed the dichotomy of the creek, the rose garden, the iron bridge, and the tall office buildings. We walked beneath the underpass of I-95, listening to cars and trucks roaring by overhead. I stopped to photograph the reflection of the aqueduct, noting the beauty that extended beyond the structure itself, to the water beneath. In the process, I saw my own reflection cast by the sun behind me, making me look even taller than usual.

It made me wonder about reflections. As we stood there, I noticed Franklin looking up at me, his eyes questioning me. Were we continuing our walk? Did I have more treats for him? I thought about my love for him evident in his eyes.

Near the end of our walk, I stopped at a magnificent, gnarly tree. I marveled at its mystique. I wondered for how many years people had stopped to observe it. As I stared, ready to photograph its beauty, I spotted the gray squirrel camouflaged in the crook of the branches, the sun spotlighting its face.

It’s a time of year for reflection. Of this year, of years past. Of how today will be reflected years from now. I want to live my life with the kind of love that makes others feel cherished. And, like my Christmas Cactus, it doesn’t have to comport with an assigned time or season. It can bloom right now.