Beverly Hoffman

For the past seven years, I have devoted November's gardening column to my sense of gratitude of being in this valley. I offer my eighth!



In Gratitude

A pink tint in the early light

awakens me. As I rise, I look east to the morning and

sunrise stretches across a marbled sky. The colors - cherry, strawberry and

orange - swirl, like flavors in saltwater taffy.

I want to taste dawn's sweetness.

I remain silenced; words can add nothing.



To honor such a morning, should I assume

a fitting posture?

Perhaps I should stand in a yoga

Mountain Pose with my arms raised to the heavens

as I stand perched on one leg,

the other raised to my side above the knee. The sunrise will celebrate

that I am One with

the Universe and that I, too, taste sweet morsels each morning.



Or shall I merely sit and ponder the infusion

of life in each of the representative colors, taking

an artist's perspective. I'll notice

the horizon line studded

with spiky Doug-firs on undulating mountain tops, and I'll

observe the myriad shades of corals

turning to pinks, then

morphing into purples. I'll study the proportion of sky

to the water. The morning colors pool in the Strait,

and I reflect.

There is a chair nearby. Should I sink into it and let

stiff muscles relax? I could roll my head

backward, and the sunrise's now muted colors could

massage my thoughts until I ease into a gentle slumber.

The sun's warmth will blanket me from musky dew.



As the sun shines over our valley, the pumpkins dotting the fields stand out

against fall's fading colors and the

golden grasses.

I kneel.

I can do nothing less.



In gratitude for the sacred life in our valley,

I bow my head.



A shadow passes and I look to the sky

and a soaring eagle positions his wings in prayer

and then he rises

toward the awakened Sun.



Beverly Hoffman