As Thanksgiving approaches, I am thankful for many things, too many to list here in some endless post that rambles through many screens of lists and sublists, but near the top of my list, as always, is my great feeling of appreciation for those who walk gentle upon the earth and who struggle against overwhelming odds to keep the planet whole.
This year, we can still find our quiet places where Edward Abbey’s words can be carried upon the wind:
“Benedicto: May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poet’s towers into to dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howel, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you–beyond the next turning of the canyon walls.”
I found this quote in Heron Dance – A Work of Love, issue 54, which arrived in the mail several weeks ago to help me celebrate autumn. The magazine is edited by artist Roderick MacIver of Heron Dance.