Thanksgiving BigLittle.

We were thirteen of us, in four generations, at the Thanksgiving table this year.

The great-grandmother at our Thanksgiving table was ninety years old.

The new great-grandson at our Thanksgiving table was less than ninety days old.

Occasions such as this make a body very thankful.

Such a contrast between the old and the new, the big and the little.


Fifteen months old, in daddy’s lap.

The new people are still so small in comparison  to us big people.


Baby’s hands, baby’s feet, mother’s hands, mother’s feet.


Baby’s foot, mother’s foot.

We hold these tiny hands with care, full of wonder.


Mother’s fingers, baby’s fingers.

A sleeping infant in your lap will take you back to your beginnings.

That baby will hurl your thoughts into the future.


Baby’s hand, grandpa’s thumb.

We swim in Time’s river.

With thanks.

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