Some days everything is right: the roast chickens moist, the green beans with the perfect amount of bite, the crunch and fluff of the potatoes, the teaspoon of freshly ground cumin on the shredded sweetheart cabbage while it steamed a good choice. The gravy makes you sing. Even the pumpkin pie you leave in the oven for 15 minutes too long survives without a scorch.
Your friends arrived cloaked in the after-shock of six weeks of builders, work concerns, family niggles, the kind of weariness that flattens the light in people's eyes.
Food, wine, spicy tea, chocolate, laughter and a feel-good movie in front of a log burning fire to make you smile.
Some days you do not have to try to be good to yourself or others. Some days it just happens of its own accord. An alignment of the stars? Your breath in tune with the rhythm of the season? The way you looked at the world when you got out of bed that morning and said, 'yes'?
Hungry Writing Prompt
Write about what your body loves.
I have kept the bottle of Chianti we drank. It is asking for candles, for flames and soft rivers of wax. Remember them, those bottles in their nests of woven straw from our bedsits and twenty-something flats that sat on our kitchen tables, their waxy rippled landscapes growing fatter by the week as we ourselves grew into the world? I'm starting another: a feel-good bottle of colour and light. We might have evolved from the events and journeys of our past but it's how we live and love in the present that really makes us who we are.