Giving Thanks 

The remnants of the turkey hangs in tatters from the bones of the
carcass at the bottom of the trash bin. Leftover stuffing and
cranberry sauce chill in their plastic containers in the fridge. The
dishwasher hums in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the
cleanup.

The television sits dark and mute in the corner, its shadow dancing on
the wall in the golden glow of the firelight.

You feel almost boneless and light as a feather on my lap as I pull
the blanket up to cover us. We each stare, mesmerized, into the fire,
basking in the afterglow of an evening spent with family and friends
who celebrated the spirit and not just the formality of Thanksgiving.

We are tired, but even as fatigue pulls at us, a spark of passion
grows. A soft touch here, a light caress there, and soon we're on a
leisurely journey to our inevitable destination.

I love the way the firelight plays on the softness of your curves as
you lie gloriously naked before me. Softly, slowly, tenderly, on my
side behind you, I enter you. We move langorously, in rhytm with the
flames.  There's no urgency, no hurry. We know where we're going and
have plenty of time to get there.

When it's finally finished, we're not even breathing hard. I pull the
blanket up to cover us again.

You turn your head, and our simultaneous utterance of "Thanks!" covers
so much more than the last fifteen minutes.  In that single syllable,
we know, without discussion, is appreciation  for and contentment with
our lives together, and a promise of much more to come.

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