Untended coals that carry warmth which invoke fire well into hours of public noise restriction. To my left: a conversation about hallicunogenics; my right: details of a new movie I will never see. Across from me, the most tender and biting discussion of a potential relationship’s tilted, turmoiled, rails. Can’t take for granted the remarkable pops and fizzles that brought us all here, the barbecue behind us in its now-cold stoicism, the homemade cedar table laden with edible heirlooms, the string lights there rightfully so, and the music setting moods on some schedule of repeat. No indication of real specialness and yet.
Ragtag, off-cut, Kintsugi wares. When does lightning strike quite as gently. Illumination that does not blind but exudes as wingbeat shimmers. Denim on all but maybe two of us and fingerprinted cups shared, tipped, upended between each. The pan beneath the coal fire will cool as forecasted rain arrives, as entropy lays claim on all things, as morning peeks out over the fence and whispers hello, are you up, would you like coffee, I made some. Kindly. Anomalies in black sky can’t be appraised and needn’t be, not when here with bug’s eyes we see smallness as entire, as endless and loving on continental scales. But with your cheeks marigold and walnut before the dog days of the fire, please know how long I’ve been looking for disparities like this one, craning my neck up to blue moons in the hopes of being seen in reflected atmosphere. And even now in indisputable silence I feel the value stitched in lace over my brow, and I pay my respects to the forum that holds me in regard, any at all, ever, at any moment, ever.
Get-togethers tend to have their own nuanced ebbing and flowing of interaction, activity, energy, dictated probably mostly by attendants as opposed to actual itinerary. Reliably, I will start strong on social fronts and wane with aggression; by the back half of the night I’m happiest if I’m reclining and sipping on an easy drink and doing far more listening than speaking. This night followed that prescription right to the letter (sub firepit for the typical late-hour centrepiece). I was feeling tired, content, and just cerebral enough to feel the intensity with which the coals in the fire were intent on being personified.
One thing that seemed profound at the time was that this group of people, gathered around the fire at this certain point in the night, lit and filled up a lot of personal, social gauges I have. It’s been a while since I’ve been as involved in a group setting as I am among these friends. I’ve grown very used to silence as a discomfort, as in, saying nothing yet wishing anyone would ask me what I think, re: anything. Believing in the correlation of worth with extraversion and decibel count. Now it’s just nice to be relieved of that weight. Even wordless, still. I don’t perceive my reception as being discoloured or marred by my tendency towards quiet. I may even be appraised and appreciated on that basis. What was once a hinderance and insecurity; now just a birthmark or freckle to be beheld, illustrated, or marked for identification.
We’re just a small number of people building relationships and striding forward but there’s so much to be taken with soft thankfulness. I don’t think we’re necessarily special but it feels that way when I think of my life and the sum of friendships within it. These nights are good for us and I look forward to more, and more.