One day, when all this is over, we'll sit down together at a table. An ordinary event made precious and wonderful: gathering a jumble of mismatched chairs and a tablecloth saved for special occasions. We'll prepare a feast from recipes we perfected in isolation, using vegetables you grew in pots on your windowsill. At last we'll have the chance to share these things with others.
Around the table, we tell stories and talk for hours. There's plenty to catch up on, but more particularly, we need to practice conversation again. Being good company is a skill we're all a little rusty on, but nobody minds and we laugh our way through. Someone puts on music from an artist they discovered while they were working from home. We share the things we've missed, which are different for each person; then the things we've been thankful for, which are all the same.
We'll all be a little older. A little wiser too, and kinder, and more patient. Our shared meals and walks will be treasured times.
I don't know how long it will be before this day comes, but holding on to this picture gives me a lot to hope for. This current situation is strange, and troubling, and new. But it is not forever.
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