Grilled Peaches

I had an awakening last weekend. It happened after dinner, after the sun had set and dusk had settled in. Dishes were still on the table but we served the final course around them. Maybe they were moved to the side. I don't remember and honestly I'm sure no one noticed. The lake was pink, the air warm, the big dragon flies had come and gone. We were intoxicated on the sky and everything it touched.

I enlisted the cute guy, gave him a plate of halved peaches, a spoon full of olive oil and asked him to grill. He acted like he'd done it before, this cooking of fruit, pulling the peaches from the heat as they frayed at the edges, their skins slipping off. I sliced them into bowls, juice everywhere. And covered them with cream.

The only sounds were our spoons against the bowls, the unseen crickets and then someone asked, "Is there more?"

And I appreciated for the thousandth time and the first time again the sheer beauty of simplicity.