Sparkling crazy.

Shopping for new cushions to replace faded ones,
Used only by stray cats that make our zen garden their home.
Snoozing comfortably but always alert,
On the sky blue adirondack chairs,
That call to us too,
To be still and relax,
To purr in the warm summer sunshine.
We rush past from work to work,
Too often.
Credit card out,
Slips casually onto the counter,
A pleased salesperson.
Exhilaration.
Choices made.
New cushions, gingham and stripes.
Cheap and cheerful.
Glasses.
Orange and yellow citronella candles.
A red ice bucket, big enough.
An owl candle holder and a yogic cat,
Especially for the observant in our congress of literarians,
And for Max.
Things to renew, to amuse, to welcome friends.
To hold a space open for connections to gently grow.
Packing my car, the skies open,
Torrents of rain.
A garden party being washed away.
Disappointment.
Grey turns to blue.
It’s meant to happen.
Amber wine glasses sparkle in the afternoon sun,
Adorned with small bees pressed into moulded glass,
A dozen for ten friends
Waiting for name tags that,
A fellow shopper implored me to tie on them — with raffia,
Down aisle eight,
Past the fake flowers.
But, I’m too pressed to hunt.
Still needed gin and sushi.
String ties are fine and,
How the group will describe each other,
That will be pure inspiration.
Wild enthusiasm.
Modifiers that invite being.
Friend, the _____________!
Six bottles of champagne.
As many hours of sunlight.
Laughter until our cheeks hurt.
The good,
The glorious,
The other old actor,
The valiant,
The magnificent bacon zen master,
The connector,
The chivalrous,
The warrior hobbit.
The true.
The goddess.
Sparkling crazy.