Last night, Jonathan and I went to a fellow teacher friend J's house for a cook-out. My friend is originally from Pakistan, and despite having been in the States for twenty plus years, he sounds like a lyrical flute with a hint of Urdu when he speaks.
We set up shop in the backyard, with Indian rice, savory BBQ chicken, lentils, pupusa, home-made chutney, home-made hot sauce, and white wine to top off the spread. Next to me was a woman from Columbia who is married to L, a math teacher at my school. He is from El Salvador. Across from me sat a wizardly-looking man from India. He has a face that has seen a thousand suns. Further down the table, my friend's eighty-six years old mother reclined on the lawn chair and relished in the food she created. She is from Pakistan as well. Of the eleven people at the table, we represented at least seven different countries!
As the night snuck up on us, we noticed the waxing gibbous moon peeking at us through the trees. On our walks, Jonathan and I often make casual observations about the moon. Just a few days ago, it's crescent shape hung low in the sky; now it has taken on a fuller, more voluptuous form. At that moment while watching the moon, I felt infinitely small yet at the same time singularly significant. The moon tenderly spoke to me with its caressing beams of light billions of lightyears away.
I wished to absorb its radiance into the caverns of my soul.
1 comment:
You used the wrong "it's" in the third paragraph. ;) And, yes, I am one of the people who has been anticipating your writing the past few weeks!
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