Evenings Like This

Do you remember evenings like this?

Perhaps in a campsite in Pennsylvania?

A lonely place.

The pines whistling,

Just us “snow birds” nesting,

anticipating the night fall and the cold.

Everyone else in the world

given up for the Winter.

 

Dinner was simply elegant. 

After we’d folded up the dining room table

and converted it into a bed,

It was cold and crisp until we warmed it up.

We watched “Downton Abby”

on a mini-DVD player propped up on our bellies.

One or the other of us,

recognizing snoring,

 shut off the player

and the night outside came up to our little camper

and folded us in darkness and sounds.

 

Perhaps I am too old to do that anymore.

 I’ll never know by watching more TV

or mowing the lawn.

I keep promising myself that,

when the chores are done

and the project-planets are finally aligned,

I will hit the road once more.

Two questions.

Does the to-do list ever really end,

or does it just extend into the future,

odds and ends

continually rushing into the vacuum of one’s life?

Secondly,

Will you be right there next to me?

If not, all deals are off.