MOONLIGHT PIE

Near the edges of a moonlit meadow, I envisage a long table set beneath the spreading boughs of an ancient oak. Besides the moon overhead the only light is a nearby bon fire and a lantern hanging from a branch. On the table are rows of pies and around the table are my friends. At each elbow is a tall glass of milk. Between mouthfuls of pie, we talk of many things, and laughter clinks and  tinkles across the meadow, like ice cubes against the sides of a glass.

The next day's agenda includes nothing more than exploring the creek and procuring more pies.