A great, great gift to sit at this table together. A man. A woman. A school boy. A blue-eyed boy. A little girl who prays.
Roast chicken is on our plates, and sugared sweet potatoes. Buttered corn and peas, and coleslaw with garden ingredients.
We have ice water, and a matched set of plates. Enough silverware to go round, and then some. We sit in warmth, watching the wind and wet outside.
We talk about little bits of nothing—the exciting science test coming up tomorrow, what we’ll do this evening, what the littlest said.
Among us all, none is ill or scarred or maimed or weak or afraid.
We fill our plates, and empty them again.
How can I ever take this for granted?