River Supper

Something happens

in the midst of turmoil and uncertainty,

in the middle of the familiar routines and new protocols,

at the end of a weekend,

at the end of the summer,

and you don't expect it. 

You don't even see it coming.

You arrive and greet everyone, 

you accept a glass of wine and help pass around 

bite-sized bacon-wrapped chestnuts and mushroom-cheese melts. 

The host hops in your husband's truck to go light the bonfire

and the hostess rallies everyone in the kitchen to carry food. 

You are handed a foil-covered pie 

and you follow the path through the woods to the gravel road 

that winds down

and down

towards the river. 

At the end of the walk, the pie still safely in your hands,

you come around a wide copse of poplar trees

who leaves are rustling in the evening wind,

the sound of water rushing in a stream,

and you see it before you:

a table covered in bottles and beverages,

a bonfire and a barbecue,

the field and the trees. 

Two men in conversation. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you think,

This. This is what I've been missing. This is what I've been craving.

This is what I need right now. 

This spot.

These long-lost friends. 

This sunset meal. 

Supper by the river. Hamburgers and sausages, sweet potato salad and green bean salad. 

Wine. Mint water. Iced tea. 

Pie.

I've never done something like this. 

We're so used to gathering on decks that this -- what words describe it? It felt like entering another world. It felt like coming home.

I don't know why I felt like that. I don't know why my heart leaped. I don't know why I exhaled like I'd been holding my breath for a very long time.

Perhaps it was just the unexpectedness,

the visual impact of the space,

the al fresco setting,

all coming together in that moment,

during this time

when gathering

is done with caution. 

Outside. Where it's safe to breathe.

That's it: This was abandon. This was freedom. This was elemental. 

Sky. Earth. Water. Fire. 

Friendship. Food. 

And laughter. 

All the while, the river flowed past us,

the tide rising,

as always, not unexpected, 

like our breath,

and we didn't even notice.