Lughnasa Waning Honey Extraction Moon
“Through the years, a man (sic) peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, tools, stars, horses and people. Shortly before his death, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the image of his own face.” – Jorge Luis Borges
As the sun retreated behind the spinning earth, Kate and I sat outside at Buona Sera, an Italian restaurant in Champlin. There was an umbrella over our table and pit a pat from time to time fell acorns, the harvest of fall already underway. Kate’s birthday itself is tomorrow, but she works, so we celebrated today.
This is my 22 birthday celebration with her and I look forward to 22 more. We met each other at a point where both of us needed some good luck. We found it.
There is something satisfying about a dinner with a long time friend, especially on an important event like the day of her birth. She is a long time friend now and my long term love. There is a sort of patina that gathers with age and repetition, perhaps akin to the wabi-sabi aesthetic of the Japanese. After long use, an item, say a humble tea scoop or a water ladle, takes on the character of the one who scoops tea or ladles water with it.
Our bodies, and our faces, are the same; so are the relationships most dear to us. They take on the character of the two who create them, a lustre of careful attention and loving touch.
As the sun set, we listened to the acorns, drank our coffee and enjoyed the patina of our life together.
