Ten.Two Thousand & Forty-One
One more day.
On the mat. Cold morning. Deep breathing. Accepting it will just take time.
Not ready for the return.
I watch them ask for a different table. They want to be by the window. And why not. Why were they seated all the way at the back of the restaurant with all of these empty tables?
I realize I mistakenly signed myself up to work on Juneteenth.
Farmer’s market cherries and plums and nectarines and mint tossed in honey and orange juice. A bottle of Juhfark.
The magic of this space. Tables full of food. Buckets full of wine. Conversation in the sun and shade. This is how to spend a Saturday afternoon.
But I have made so many friends.
If this isn’t what I want, then why do I go against myself?
