Deliciousness

Grateful this first few days of summer: A woman in the convenience store who I believe is the town’s good fairy sees Luke come up to the counter with me and —of all the things she could say, she chooses: “Aww, hi Luke!” She tells me he’s looking at me to say how much he loves me, though I imagine he is just hoping for a treat from behind the counter, which does appear and is stealthily passed to me, and I hold it out to him in my palm. Sunshine and a dry shady grassy spot under a tree at the park invite me to lie down on my unnecessary coat. Luke rolls on his back every few minutes in ecstasy, then turns upright and looks up into the tree, where doves are yoo-hooing. An old-fashioned flower cart sits unattended by the road with “FREE Fresh Flowers” painted on the side, and I help myself to a white and yellow bouquet. Two long-distance bikers in shades and helmets and Lycra suits stop in mid-cycle down the road as I’m walking back to my car, and one of them calls my name, takes off the shades, and I see two old friends; for 15 minutes right there 6 feet away we catch up. I go home to “vase” the flowers and work on my projects, asking only for this summer feeling to continue at home, not fade. After my projects and a supper of pesto pasta, fresh bread from the bakery, fresh peas from the farmstand and a glass of red wine, I lie in late afternoon sun on the wooden porch next to Luke—wanting to be close to him and hugging the solid horizontal outdoors again—I ask him if he loves me even if I’m not holding a canine-centric deliciousness (Latin for “treat”), and he thumps his tail, his face saying, “You silly bean!” We are still... we are here... present tense.
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