Biscotti

We sat on the porch last night and listened to the cicadas sing.

Which is to say, the dinner was marvelous. The wine and beer flowed and the dessert was divine. I wished again that I could drink, because the Sangria was Ellen's own concoction, but it would have taken several gallons to make me happy, so I enjoyed watching Beth and Bubba drink. And when our voices echoed to each other out of the twilight, we took our leave and made our way home.

I enjoy watching others drink but I don't enjoy watching someone get dead drunk in a solitary fashion, either alone or in a crowd. In other words, the way I used to drink.  The cicadas are still singing, and the cats are out hunting. The lavender bush is humming now, a deep bass to the zinnias' tenor. And you are here with me, in this twilight time, drinking your coffee and eating the biscotti I bought for you...