soul. The soul needs to breathe much like our lungs. This past saturday
night, Sarah and I trucked up to Guelph to see some good friends
(Laur, Viv, Jill, Schoones Senior and BWil) and cook some meat
and marshmallows over an open backyard firepit. It was glory.
Though Schoones Senior was hellbent on burning way too many
large dry items (i.e. a large wicker table/stand), it ended up being
a monumental night. Though all of us joked about singing a few camp
songs, only rumblings of 'jaybird' and 'wings of a buzzard' were
heard. Everything was communal from beer to rum to cubans - all
the way down to the sausages and smores (though some sausages
ended up spewing guts from the cooking rack creating what were
dubbed as 'danglers'). It was a night of just...pure being. The air
was crisp and the fellowship was ripe. Some people got too close
to the fire and had sausage explode ONTO them while others
seemed to keep getting smoke in their eyes from any fireside seat.
It was good to see those people. They are people whom Sarah and I
love and wished we saw more often. Good folks.
Covered with sausage innards and marshmallow goop, my jeans from
that night are now completely written off. Sarah and I awoke the
morning after with a deep smell of fire wrenched into our clothing and
hair. Sheer treasure.
'It's times like these you learn to live again'.