Tonight, I had a lovely girl date: first to a fundraiser to benefit local farmers, and then, when they ran out of food and things became too crowded (which is always, always a thing at any of the tasting events in New Orleans), we picked up a bottle of wine and go cups and headed to The Fly.
The sun had already set, but the sky was still several shades of deep corals and blues. Venus appeared. We watched tugboats; my date noted they should be called towboats, because they push, not pull.
Then I started to think of currents, tides, how the Mississippi is somehow as close as my life gets to waves these days. How last May, we'd almost flooded, and we would have, if the government hadn't flooded a portion of Louisiana further (farther? I can never remember) upstream.
We talked about weddings. Specifically, how we envision our next ones. I want fewer than 100 people in a wee chapel. I want a very formal 7:30pm ceremony, with champagne, dessert, and dancing afterwards. On a Friday night, so that for the rest of the weekend, y'all can explore the destination. Because we've all been to too many destination weddings where you never get to destine or vacate.
Then we talked of evacuation plans, with the eminent hurricane season, and how it's really the worst time to be alone, not because you can't do it, but because you want someone to talk through plans with, share responsibility for, protect you.
And I listened to the "waves," reminded myself that I lived through more hurricanes growing up on the coast of North Carolina than my ex, who was raised here, and I exhaled to the universe: let it be.
Let me enjoy one of the last evenings to be outdoors until September;
let me be grateful I can push against currents, pull moonbeams across my bed, tug this load;
let me relinquish, for a bit, my need to plan out every detail;
let me relish this moment, this friendship, this love.