Carried through the miles by my thoughts of last evening…
A well-loved black wrinkled cashmere sweater thrown on as I made my way down the stairs from my studio. Fifty something degrees out. A house to spruce up. The procuring of some groceries. Items quickly jotted down on a small piece of paper that loosely rested on the kitchen counter. In a flash I was out the door and on my way. Pumpkins to be sourced for the front porch too…
Plans for an impromptu cookout were set into motion somewhere about 9 a.m. Saturday. Skies cobalt blue. Trees in warming shades of autumn. A patio surrounded by late summer blooms boasting Vanilla Strawberry hydrangeas while wild and leggy Black-eyed Susan’s waited to guide our guests from the driveway to the patio. A large granite stone path has settled into the earth with the established lawn softening its affect. A small rod iron arbor laden in grape vines served as the entrance to our makeshift outdoor restaurant for the evening.
Greeting two of the three guests invited for the evening in our drive just after 5:30 pm. Pleasantries exchanged. A gift of flowers. My friend reminded me that when she last gifted me a bouquet, I painted them. We knowingly giggled as the potential for that happening again is high. Witty banter ensued between her husband and I. Laughter often flowed easily during our pre-pandemic get togethers. The third and final guest was soon to arrive. A new friend. A trusted girlfriend. Vaccination has steadied our gate, but we are not sure footed just yet.
I bounced back and forth between friend and hostess with an unexpected energy. Our joyful and animated conversation swirled around art as we snacked on appetizers and sipped on our drinks. In the kitchen and while alone I moved swiftly to finish the remaining food preparation to rejoin the group. I paused for a moment. Stood firmly in place. Taken aback as my heart understood the delightful albeit foreign sounds of friendship and laughter had filled the Vermont air. Magic floated through the open windows and on the familiar fragrance of charcoal embers…
We sat. We dined together around an ample 10-foot wooden table my husband had handily built just for this location. Just for such hopeful occasions. A dancefloor sized stone patio had been made intimate with this table of many woods. We ate and indulged ourselves on what we had been missing for so many months. The clean-up made easy by the many helpful hands and generous hearts…
The fire pit offered an after-dinner warmth as we sat in the round. The blaze mesmerizingly strong. Popping and crackling. The curtain had dropped on this splendid day. Darkness surrounded. The stars coy display overhead. A distinctive hoot of a Barred Owl echoed across the still autumn evening. The conversation amongst us had quieted as we relaxed into our mutual comfort. The sound of a nearby bubbling brook rooted our understanding of what existed during the daylight was merely coated by the night. Our goodbyes for the evening came in stages as we were hesitant to let go of the evening. Of the fun…
This morning as I ran down my street crunching through the fallen leaves in shades of gold, red and orange my knees lifted just that much higher. My footfalls were quicker as I breathed in that cool crisp Vermont air while being carried through the miles by my thoughts of last evening…
“Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.” — Henry David Thoreau
