The sun hangs in the western sky for a long while in these late July evenings as if he is not ready to yield to the moon of greater darkness. I know the feeling Mr. Sun, I too am not eager to yield to the solitary darkness as I prepare to see my wife slip back to Texas and her world of duties and work.
It is July 28, 2023, our last supper together for a long while. For this, her second summer visit, we circle back to what we did the year before o our last supper. This is must now be our bitter-sweet tradition.
We take a few sausages from the oven, throw in some condiments, stop for some snacky junk food on the way to the beach and call it our summer's last supper; a meal my mom would be ashamed of for its fatty entree only made worst by the unredeemed inclusion of nothing but salty and sugary sides.
Delicious.
We return after our start of a couple of miles, we'll be on the water at sunset. The breeze will likely kick up and we will regret not having warm clothes. Agreed.
Now we are on our way west to Cama Beach for our Summer of '23 last Supper.
We settle with our backs to a turf-tossed weathered log and scoop out a seat among the rounded pebbles and hashed mollusk shells.
It feels good to be here with Sue.
It feels sad to be here with Sue.
We are glad that we remembered to bring our warm shirts and glad for our time together. Tomorrow brings rain storms and a drive to Seattle to drop Sue off at the curb, give her a hug and quickly leave her to find her gate and board her plane. I dislike the parting and I do not stay long.
The sun will rise tomorrow and if I were to be at Cama Beach, the sun would circle across the sky as the day before when we both watched it set. I will remember out junk food last supper and I will long for a reunion.
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