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The most delicious mint juleps

have ingredients from the Hedgebrook garden:

there is the mint, freshly harvested,

a quickly concocted simple syrup,

expedited by ice (and wanting),

and a splash of Jack Daniels,

left by a writer long gone

(now our inheritance).

Sipping slowly at the beach

we watch the sky turn from

blue to pink

(whispering premonitions of dusk).

The conversations bubbles ravenously.

Do actual books exist in the future?

Which toilet is the most prudent

to order for a stay in Antarctica?

Is there a hope of ever really unplugging?

There are seven of us around the table

each of us a day in the week,

Aphrodite is here,

also Athena.

They chuckle from beneath tide pools

and beyond mountain tops.

This picnic table is an altar

to the divine feminine,

as we raise our glass

to say “cheers.”

 

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