I wondered if it would be too warm,
too still,
even in the shade of the Mimosa,
at the end of a warmish day.
But there was a breeze,
and the perfume…
So we set the table
in the shade,
beneath the flamboyant pink blossoms,
and gathered round
for our annual potluck,
these dear friends
who weekly, freely, share
around thoughts and feelings
that ring with the resonance
of meaning.
Years of sharing deeply
has formed a beloved community.
Reluctantly, we abandon our weekly gatherings
for the summer,
but only after sharing a meal—
a delicious meal,
lovingly offered,
fully appreciated.
We were lingering at table
when the sky in the north grew dark
and the wind changed
and the temperature dropped 15 degrees
while we scrambled to bring everything inside
(feeling extremely fortunate
at the prospect of rain, two days in a row!)
Settled again
on the front porch,
we watched the storm arrive,
stayed in place
even though we wore summer clothes
and the north wind brought chills—
welcome chills—
then rain. The air grew fuzzy and soft
with rain.
Our conversation rang again
with meaning (we just do that!)
but now was laced with spontaneous outbursts—
“ah, that smell!”—
that otherwise had nothing—
“oh, that sound!”—
to do with the subject—
“oh my, what a lovely rain!”—
at hand.
Or, perhaps, the uncontrolled exclamations
did.
Eventually, as the chill settled,
a cup of hot tea
seemed fitting—
along with (why not!) a chunk of the first—
luscious—watermelon
of the summer.
So glad humans are not
in charge; so glad when we stay
open
to life’s surprises.
We couldn’t have ordered
a lovelier, richer day.