i'll always want to come over
A couple of weekends ago, Hans and I went over to a friend's for a cookout. As usual, the food was delicious--guacamole, grilled teriyaki chicken wings, mayonnaise-less potato salad. All wonderful. The weather was warm, but not terrible; as the sun laid itself to rest, the flies disappeared, the wind stilled. There was the hum of crickets, the usual summer symphony. Bats awoke, emerging from the barn's upper rafters and into the night sky. There's always something to notice on the homestead--the blooming flowers, the hungry bleat of the few remaining goats. The way the bark peels on certain trees. The windblown grasses, the slant of the barn's architecture. The way the sun hits, hits just right, on the glass bottles lining the kitchen window.
There's always something, and I will keep wanting to visit, keep wanting to find something new.