This morning there's a coat of frost
sketched on the windowpanes,
snowflakes in flight
drawn during the night,
the first sign of Winter's elf
caught at his handiwork
as the last of the golden leaves
tremble up in the branches of the poplars,
like the last of a golden autumn
still clinging to the calendar.

The year has been good to us.
We've gathered apples and sweet potatoes
into the pantry, filled the icebox
with fresh cider and bottles of wine
conjured from the blessings of good weather
and piedmont vines and mountain orchards.
A fresh turkey taken in a meadow
Up on our heights, roasts in the oven.
There's beans and cranberries, pumpkins and onions
gathered from the surrounding farms.
The baked pies are waiting on the shelf.

We're ready to share our blessings now.
The logs are burning in the old fireplace,
warming every corner of the room.
The table is heaped with plates and glasses,
the silverware is all laid out,
the armchairs set around it,
waiting for family and friends
gathering back from all the far flung places
to the place they still call home.

The year has been good to us.
We thank God for more than our daily bread,
our cups that run over
into the hands of friend and neighbor.
The Lord is kind and good
and we must not forget that this is His food,
this bounteous Earth, a garden of His making,
and our lives, another chance to enjoy it.