It’s nice being in a warm room, flanked by a heater, a block of Lindt “Noir Orange” chocolate, a flurry of paper (articles on scripture & the church, timetables, brochures, and and essay question) and a copy of Calvin’s Institutes.
The thunder occasionally peals in the distance. It rained for a minute or two. Just long enough for me to raise the blinds and open the windows, so I can smell the moisture-laden air & listen to the drops hit the plastic patio roof outside my window.
Evenings like this I wish I didn’t have to go to bed. Things feel so… “real” on nights like this. Like the air itself has grit and grain.
I knew from the start the night would be good though. $10 steaks at the Summer Hill Pub with a free Schooner of Beer. A chef who has grasped with both mind and hands the meaning of the word “rare”.
We arrived, we sat and we chatted over our lovely meals.
And as it ends…
“I enjoyed that so much I could probably go it again”
Dan delivers the off-hand comment, such as would be expected after any good meal.
“I know what you mean, I feel the same way”
“Well, if we are all in, then why not”
I smile enthusiasticly. Wallets are fished out, coins are counted & dinner is repeated!
And thus the poem entitled “Twin Steaks” is born.
I best not let the night end too late….