Got home late last night from an evening of music and camaraderie. It was cool outside and the moonlight lit the back porch and bathed the pasture beyond in it’s soft light. I didn’t linger long. I was tired and went straight to bed. Got up this morning and it was still cool, and the air was soft against my skin. It’s hard to believe that by noon it will feel like the breath of a fire breathing dragon. Oh, well. Best to enjoy it while I can.

After breakfast I’m going to make a pie to take over to a friend’s house this evening where once again I will gather with those I love to share food, drink, and companionship. An odd thing just happened, though. I paused in my writing to find the recipe I needed, and as I pulled the recipe card out of the family recipe holder it released the lingering spirit of my late wife, and tears welled up. The pie was a favorite of mine and she often made it for my birthday. I could taste the pie and see her making it just by holding the card. I had to set the card down.

I like those little bursts. You can’t really look for them on purpose. They have to come when you’re relaxed and feeling good and your emotional guard barriers are down. In other words, you have to be receptive. And when they come you can’t run or hide, you have to welcome them. Savoring the moment and the memory. And that’s what I’m doing right now as I write and think about the card and the pie and the woman who made it. The card is stained. I’m stained. Love. It leaves a mark.