First, I smell it. The sweet, spicy
scent of home. Then I see it being carefully passed
down, coming down the endless table filled
with laughter and foods of every kind.
At last it is passed to me.
My knife cuts into it, easy as butter.
I carefully lift it out, not wanting to break the
perfect slice. It is cool and creamy and light as air.
From the crumbly crust to the airy whipped cream,
waiting 364 days just to taste this again was
worth it. There are so many things to be grateful for
on Thanksgiving. Pumpkin pie is definitely one of them.