Picture This

The night grows darker but still she plays, her little steps outlining the vast grassy field that lays before her void of anything or anyone other than her. A couple sit to the left whispering quietly, sweetly to each other as they leisurely sip at their ciders and drag from cigarettes.

Pots bang, glasses clink, the hollow woof of flame as the gas cook top is fired up. You can smell the rain still hanging in the air, the grass is damp and soft from it. We eat, starved by too many glasses of wine, greedily picking at each others plates.

And we laugh whole heartedly, engrossed in the food but also in each others' nonsensical but important tales.

Warm and full from food and love.