Charles placed his cloth napkin neatly in his lap as I opened the oven to retrieve the lasagna. It was a gooey mess. He smiled as I sat down on the oak chair.
It was like old times. Before the world was baked under the simmering sun and the streets bubbled up like the cheese on our plates. Before the sky sank and the earth found new ground. Before we slid down the roots of the great Redwood trees.
“If you are a dreamer, come in,” the elves sang.
That night we stayed up with our crayons and a Mandala coloring book. There is something to be said about shapes and Shapeshifters, owls and eyes, spirals, and suns. But that is for another time. We finally finished coloring as Saturn spun into view. And we never discussed the summer of 2022. We never would.
Lillian hosts Prosery today at dVerse where we are challenged to write a prose piece of 144 words or less, including a line from a poem. She has chosen the line, “If you are a dreamer, come in,” from Shel Silverstein’s poem Invitation included in his book Where the Sidewalk Ends.