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,
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.”