It was a perfect day for a garden party. Carrie had everyone there and she and Emily were out in the garden. Some tips were welcomed about potato bugs from Emily. She showed how they moved and where they came from. “Under the ground?” Yup. But you can control a small amount of them by just squishing them as they appear. Or there is a benign way by using diatomaceous earth powder! Any bug with an exoskeleton can be controlled. It was a new word and very good advice from an expert on those things. Bugs.
The round patio table was set with delicious looking pastries and snacky sorts of things. Crackers and French Brie. Croissants and small glass dishes filled with pesto. There was fine china cups that seemed to anticipate coffee and linen at the places where lawn chairs were set.
Sort of a high English tea picture set for the honored guests. Gary began digging into the brie and, as another writer, was delighted with all his fellow writers, and good friends, coming over to the table to join him.
There was a bit of lively conversation approaching as Dave and Sally were on either side of Nigel excitedly filling him in on Scripture verses that explain how this glorious party resembles another to come. Bob was dancing before them, sometimes walking backwards and giving encouragement to the three of them. How exciting it must be to hear these grand stories. Battles and victories with noble people. Suffering with unbelievable impact. Many things almost hidden from casual reading that book.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, just off the porch, Jack and Peter were whipping up a brew of excellent coffee. Fresh ground and just flown in with Carrie and Peter’s previous visit to St. Helena island. Best coffee beans on the planet for only twenty dollars an ounce. What a smell when the grinder did it’s work. Oh my, Jack never thought he would even smell coffee like this! Jack was ecstatic with his history knowledge kicking in. The very island that Napoleon was exiled to! Jack wondered if it was worth the exile to have that sort of coffee every day.
Eddie came in with a really nice linen towel around his arm and he was dressed to ‘the nines’ with an excellent servants black outfit. He delighted everyone when he walked out with a tray loaded with the best espresso ever. Sugar and cream in matching china as well.
It was a gathering of writers that came to enjoy one anothers company and hear stories from experienced raconteurs. The soiree lasted until the evening dew began and the grass was sparkly with the moonlight.
Have you ever thought what heaven would be like? What the King’s table that Moses and seventy some people got to dine at with the creator of everything that is and will be? Perhaps this was a dim preamble of sorts.
Writers can be persnickety and filled with themselves, but not today. Not in the garden of delights. What a gift for these poetic people to try and capture it in words that just didn’t seem adequate to describe it all. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator