Thanksgiving Flash Fiction
“The Last Light”
The wind came down the ridge in long, thoughtful breaths, carrying the smell of woodsmoke and the last stubborn leaves clinging to the oak tree by the fence. Evening settled slow over the holler, turning the mountains in the distance the color of bruised plums.
Pliney stepped onto the porch with a steaming mug, her palms stinging from the heat. The boards creaked under her feet, old wood always does, but it was a familiar sound. The slam of the screen door clanged behind her.
She set the mug on the railing beside the tiny pumpkin she’d never bothered to carve. “Granddaddy always said the last warm light of November was the best kind,” she whispered, though there was no one there to hear it.
But maybe there was. Somewhere in the quiet, she always swore she felt the house listening.
Pliney wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders. It still smelled faintly of cedar where she had pulled it from her hope chest. The hills glowed under the sunset, golden at the edges, like someone had rimmed the world in fire. Thanksgiving always did this to her—made the memories rise up like creekwater after a storm.
She breathed in slow. Thankful for the heat of the cup. Thankful for the hush of the mountains. Thankful that even in the lonely places, something inside her still flickered, warming her throughout.
A single star blinked between the branches overhead, shy at first, then steady. Pliney lifted her mug toward it. “To staying,” she said softly. “Even when it hurts.”
The wind gentled for a moment, brushing her cheek like momma used to.
And Pliney stood there on the porch of the old house, alone but not empty, holding her warm mug beneath the first brave star of the night, letting herself feel every small, stubborn thing she still had to be thankful for.
This week as we sit down with family and friends, lets remember everything we are thankful for, no matter how simple or mundane.
Pliney reminds us that remembering those we have lost along the way left an imprint on our hearts, and are always with us. For that, I am forever thankful.
Let me know what Pliney’s story stirred up for you, or what you’re thankful for this year, in the comments below.
