Cornucopia

I step down into the cozy basement apartment to

cheers and the warm smell of

nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, and

cloves, giving way to the scent of roasted

turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, sweet

pies and more, as twenty-something

twenty-somethings pile in, arms crowded with

platters and foil-wrapped dishes set

aside upon entry for tight

hugs, as we gather for our first

Friendsgiving.

~

We sit at tables set end to end, filling the

length of the apartment, snug shoulder to

shoulder. Dishes pass from hand to

hand and chatter and the

clatter of silverware and

laughter fills the space, mingled with

glowing candlelight and a pervasive sense it

has been and will always be this

good. A moment as effervescent as the

champagne we use to

toast the season and one

another.

~

Finally, after the last bite, we push

back with satisfied sighs and full

bellies and coffee and beer, each friend a

promise made and kept over and

over, folded in cream

colored napkins and a

tablecloth stored in its own

drawer for the next time we

feast and celebrate the found

family company we

keep.