full-moon ritual

C packed our cooler bags with one red wine, one white; S fetched the picnic blankets; and me being the only girl at that point and the only one who doesn’t really drink, filled my water bottle with water, and was allowed to carry that out.

Down the street we walked. Summer nights are the best.
Past one, two, three houses, then into House Number Four we went, bringing noise and laughter in with us, and walking out with A and M.

Down we carried on. Summer breezes are the sweetest.
Past five, four, three, two, one houses, then across we walked from crunchy tar to soft grass. And there, by the park swings, stilled by the night, S spread our blankets, C unpacked the wine, and all of us plonked down, passing around glasses, bottles, jokes and stories.

Then the full moon rose, and we all stopped to admire its beauty. But eventually, one by one, we turned our heads back to each other and continued in conversation, the moon’s splendour forgotten in the joy of being together.

And that’s how it should be.

~ by translating for peas on December 17, 2009.

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