Samhain Winter Moon
Here is a northern moment. Good friends gathered in a small room with wine and steaks and snow outside, the cold. The Holiseason has charged the air with angels and dreidels and long nights. Ice on the streets and roads creates the kind of gentle confusion, and sometimes not so gentle confusion, that makes driving in Holiseason different from the rest of the year.
We gathered slowly, two Woollys walked up to the bar before I got there. Mark in his silk Chinese tie and fancy sport jacket with high points on the collar sat with Charlie H. leaning back, comfortable around alcohol, the two smiling and talking.
The Sun Room at the Nicollet Island Inn was back through a labyrinth of halls, past the bar, stuck away from the rest of the place, a private area for ten or twelve, just right for the eight of us: Warren, Frank, Mark, Charlie H., Paul from Maine, myself, Tom and Bill.
Tom made the evening special with a gift, the meal, a gesture toward the season and toward brotherhood, appreciated by each of us. It was that special holiday gathering, one of friends genuinely glad to see each other, to listen, to laugh. May we have as many more ahead of us as we have behind us.