Huckleberry pancakes
on this Thanksgiving morning.

These little morsels were gifted long before,
meant for a sweet weekend
we could savor more.

Foraged at summer’s end—
August 22nd, to be exact.
Huckleberries are the prize,
from the mountain, Three Finger Jack.

Today I move slowly,
cherishing all that I have.
Blessed to be home, cozy in my space—
sipping hot coffee, the kiddos in place.

Preparing for vinyasa flow,
tradition continues—
the parade hums low,
Christmas music plays in soft array,
candles warm the room,
cedar balsam scents the air.

I sneak a few berries
before they meet the batter…
sweet, fresh, tart, delectable—
the first bright bursts of flavor.

If there’s one thing I remember you saying
about huckleberries in pancakes, it was:
“heavy on the berries.”

Looking back now, your message reads:
“Recommend making Huckleberry Pancakes
if you haven’t already. Heavy on the berries.
Quite a delight.”
You sent that August 27th—
three months ago today.

As I whip the batter
and watch the little bursts of color
swirl in the bowl,
I think: what are the chances
I saved these sweet, harvested morsels
from my dear darling, sweetie…
for a special holiday morning like this—
that aligns, in quiet synchronicity,
with when you shared it, like a kiss.

Three months.

In numerology,
the number 3 embodies
creativity, communication, and joy.
I feel these berries
are gifting me exactly that.

You text me back and say,
“There’s definite alignment and timing
even in the midst of such change.”

Through the evolution of us,
the distant growth apart,
little moments like this
keep me close to your heart.