Thanksgiving
My ceiling fan has 4 blades.
It is a good mover. Cooling
while dispersing; driving out
the old allowing for cleaner,
more breathable replacement.
Inhaling comfortably, I think
of all that went into such a
marvelous invention. My parents'
fans were, open doors and windows.
Wet sheets hung from the upper
casements; and with a little breezy
help from nature, they survived those
very hot Midwest, suffocating evenings.
They survived the dust and disease.
They survived the lean crops and
bloody wars. They respected
each other, keeping their love
strong and sacred. They did
without so that I could attend
school, later to have all the
luxuries our present prosperous
era has to offer. The framed degree,
on my office wall is often a focus of my
attention. My name in bold Italics.
But I always read aloud the invisible
credits: Mom, Dad, and the grace
of God.
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