It should still be my month of praise songs, so I could tell you about the lamb, charred on the outside into a perfect crust. The crumbly cheese we chipped off into pieces and ate with olives and salami. The bright white walls of the house, and the photos of Turkey, and the inky wine I had to go out and buy myself as soon as I could. If it were still my month of praise songs, I would sing to friendship and conversation, to shared meals at wood tables. I would not stop until I praised the dog circling our feet seeking scraps, the radicchio made tender and sweet from grilling. And the deck, how I would sing to that deck. Downtown bright through the trees, jasmine thick in the air, sitting together sharing old stories until it was late, later than we realized. Oh, the song that I would have sung.
May 2, 2015