Last night at sundown

My darling man came home last evening and said, "How are you feeling? Want to take a bottle of vino up to the path and have wine in the garden?" And that's what we did. As dusk was falling, we walked up to the butterfly garden on the upper path of our grounds, and sat on my favorite bench.

My husband carried the bottle of red in a green canvas wine case that he enjoys using. It came with stem glasses and cloth napkins and space for a corkscrew, and is a very neat way to transport the party. We just sat, and sipped, and talked companionably, and watched the night slip through the trees and the solar lights along the path flicker on.

Occasionally our neighbors passed by, coming home from work, heading out to the supermarket, walking their dogs, or getting their nightly exercise. We chatted with a father and his little boy, who was trying to catch fireflies. We nodded and smiled and made up stories about people's errands, and I was reminded how lucky it is to have a comrade on this journey, a lover with whom you can watch the night fall over a butterfly garden on an ordinary weekday evening.

At one point, I checked inside myself and realized the internal agitation that has stalked me recently was for the moment tamed. I felt peaceful. It wasn't the wine. It was the open sky, the trees, the flowers swaying in the breeze of butterfly wings, most of all, it was the man.