Dinner in our garden

Fifteen of us in the backyard. The grilled eggplant glides in the mouth, a succulent chunk of sealed flavour. It bursts as teeth dig in, then it melts, a sensual journey down the throat. Salads, fresh, crisp, cool the heat. Giggles, glasses of wine half emptied. "With the first child," someone says, "you take the kid to the hospital after a sneeze. With the second one, the kid's arm is twisted, hanging limp and you say, go to bed dear, it will get better tomorrow." Hysterical laughter. The night unfolds. The breeze sweeps away a frown, a pursed lip. Faces, foliage and clematis stars softly outlined by candlelight, look mysterious, yet familiar. Personalities shift in the shadows, searching release. New friendships bubble. Some weave stronger ties. It is a good night.