Thanksgiving Day dawned gold, vivid reminder of the riches proffered with the start of each day. Waialeale was fully revealed, and blushing rose, a splendid sight that elicited spontaneous song of homage and joy.
On the beach, coarse sand still held hollows made by monk seals, turtle tracks not yet smudged by human feet. Late November ocean, glassy, warm, clear, called out "come swim!" and I did, as the albatross giggled on the surrounding hills.
Joyous, endlessly grateful, blessed beyond measure, this day, and every day, I returned home to find the bees busily working the tiny ironwood blossoms, partaking in their own sweet feast.