Oh, how the glory of Fall is fallen upon the Park.
It comes late to the heart of Manhattan;
the colors gilt in raking light of draining days.
When the leaves are on the trees and on the ground all at once,
the Autumn pattern paints a pathway between Sky and Earth.
But fallen;
blown;
come down;
spilt,
soon leaves will only lie upon the dirt.





Or so I wrote, in advance of this occasion, hoping to post this from abroad. Right now I'm in Austria, vetting vintners on a dmtree juice junket. Actually, wine is not my area of expertise, (though I am capable of drinking a certain amount,) but a visit to Vienna and environs, with good friends, seemed like a good way to spend Thanksgiving. Wine is the business of our esteemed associate, the Wheel. We'll be thanking him tonight, no doubt, and toasting all our far-flung friends with a glass of business-cum-merriment. We will not fear to be American interests overseas.

Back home, in the Park, I suppose that the better part of Fall is already over, and all but a few of the leaves now lie on the ground. An unusually wet November has relieved our drought, but the storms made quick work of the autumnal display of fleeting chroma. Still, it was in many respects a fine season. Last year on this day I used bird watching to discuss the non-specific reciprocity of thankfulness. This year the specific comes home to roost, so to speak. Almost a year to the day after I earned thanks by pointing out a rare Connecticut Warbler, the same birder, Nick Wagerik, led me to my first encounter with a Vesper Sparrow, another bird that's hard to find, at least in the Park. Seen virtually at vespers, the sighting completed a cycle, but does not exhaust the circuit of gratitude.

So I'm thankful for birds, and trees, and yes, people too. Despite my appetite for solitude, I've had more social interaction in the Park this Fall than I am accustomed to. In particular, I've done a lot of birding with two friends who are at opposite ends of the experience spectrum. Tom Fiore is one of the Park's top bird watchers, while Eve Romero is a relative beginner. I'm somewhere in between, so I'm thankful for the chance to learn from an expert, even while fueling the enthusiasm of a novice. From rare Sparrows to wayward Hummingbirds (and a few good insects,) we've shared a harvest of wonderful sights this season.

Being thankful does not preclude one from asking for more.
That's the way of Life: always wanting; never satisfied but briefly. There will be more, I do have faith, but it was with wisdom that this day was appointed for Thanksgiving, even as we face the days of diminishment. The long darkness only makes us thankful for the light that was, and the light that yet will be. The light will grow again come Solstice and the Christmastide. With that faith, we call these brief days the Holiday Season. So, even with war and Winter at the door, raise a glass with us (wherever you may be) and give thanks.
We have no better choice.