the owl and the olive tree

To the day of the longest night, and the promise of the sun's return.

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,"
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

          —Oliver Herford

At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows.

          —William Shakespeare

Every year for Thanksgiving, we travel over the mountains to visit the boy's father and his father's partner. They live in Eastern Washington, which is very different than Western Washington: the Cascades serve as a rainshield, which means that the lush, wet foresty growth stops once you get through the mountains. Eastern Washington is scrub-steppe, with rolling hills and valleys and few trees, and it's a lot colder than Western Washington.

So right now I'm sitting in front of the fireplace at Pav's dad's house, looking out the window at a heavy blanket of untouched snow on the hills. We came this year with friends (bellwethr and morganlf), and more friends will be coming soon. Our hosts always put out an amazing spread (right now I can smell the stilton cheese puffs browning in the oven). But mostly, it's a little island of calm at the beginning of the December-January madness, and I cherish it.

I'm no fan of colonialism or of the crimes of my nation's past, but I am a fan of harvest festivals. More than that, though, I think there's a great deal to be said for being thankful for what one has. The list is too long (and in some ways, too personal) for me to enumerate here, but it's very much on my mind today. And part of what I'm thankful for is... well, all of you. The Internet, and the relationships I made there, is a huge part of what kept me from going totally bananas in high school, and I'm glad I can still find people I care about and who care about me there to this day.

Happy Thanksgiving, if you celebrate. If you don't, have a lovely Thursday.