Thanksgiving This Thanksgiving you’re sober. Your words aren’t slurred, eyes aren’t bloodshot; you and your sister tease me about my driving. Slowly, I reach our destination. Out past Holyoke, Lee, Hudson, to Millerton. Silos, still groups of cows and sheep replace shopping malls, service areas. Hemlock, fir and white birch replace maple and oak. Breathing replaces the clenched chest, strained muscles; I walk into the shadowed hills. Just for