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.

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Fifteen months old, in daddy’s lap.

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

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

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Baby’s foot, mother’s foot.

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

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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.

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Baby’s hand, grandpa’s thumb.

We swim in Time’s river.

With thanks.

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