Happy Thanksgiving.
The table is cleared.
The last dish is drying in the rack.
Or soaking until tomorrow.
That counts.
And you're lying down.
Full.
Maybe a little too full.
That's allowed today.
Loosen whatever needs loosening.
For the next six minutes...
let's close out the day slowly.
A little thanks.
And a lot of rest.
Let your belly be round and heavy.
Rest a hand on it, if you like.
Feel it rise and fall.
Warm.
Like the fire other in the room.
Let your eyes close.
Listen to the crackle of the logs.
Burning low now.
It was a big day.
Even the good parts took energy.
The turkey that needed basting every half hour.
Someone asking where the gravy boat went.
It was in the back of the cabinet.
Behind the good glasses.
Where it lives the rest of the year.
The football game in the living room.
Everyone talking over the TV.
Maybe a moment that got a little tense.
Every family has those.
And maybe the day was quieter for you.
Just you.
Or you and one other.
That's a real Thanksgiving too.
Whatever today held...
let the busy parts drift off now.
Like smoke up the chimney.
Breathe in slowly...
And breathe the whole feast out.
Now let's look back.
Gently.
For just a few small things.
Not a big speech.
Just a quiet thank you for each one.
First, find a laugh from today.
Anyone's.
Maybe even your own.
An uncle's terrible joke.
A toddler in a paper pilgrim hat.
Whatever comes first.
Hear it again for a moment.
Who laughed?
What was so funny?
And say, in your head...
thank you.
Now find a taste.
The first bite of stuffing.
Or cold pie, eaten standing up.
Let yourself taste it again.
Slowly, this time.
Nobody's reaching for seconds.
Thank you.
Now face.
Someone you saw today.
Or someone you thought about.
Maybe someone who isn't at the table anymore.
They can be here too.
Their recipe is probably still in the box.
If that brings a little ache...
let it sit next to the thanks.
They belong together tonight.
See their face.
Just as it is.
Thank you.
One more.
Something small.
Something you almost missed.
The smell of the kitchen at noon.
Or a text from someone far away.
A photo of their plate.
Thank you.
Notice how your chest feels now.
Maybe a little warmer.
You don't have to feel grateful for everything.
Some of today was hard.
A few small thank yous are plenty.
Breathe in...
And out...
holding on to just the good parts.
Just rest now.
Warm and full.
The fire is down to embers.
Glowing orange.
Popping now and then.
The house is quiet.
The leftovers are stacked in the fridge.
Tomorrow's lunch, already handled.
If a laugh from today comes back...
let it.
Smile a little, if you want.
Your body is heavy.
Your belly soft under your hand.
Breathing in...
And out...
One last thank you.
For this bed.
For this quiet.
Grateful...
and heavy with rest.
The embers glow a little longer.
Then settle into gray.
Sleep well.
Goodnight.