Sunday soup is not a meeting

If you are here on Sunday you can have soup. I make one pot. It is vegetables and whatever was honest in the bowl. It is not a reason to come, and it is not a reason to call it a gathering.

Lena is counting. I try not to talk to her while she counts. The pot is on the table, not in the orchard.

I was the only other person. I ate, I left the bowl in the wash bucket, and I did not ask what the number was. It felt like the right silence.

The number was twelve. Thank you for the silence. The pot did not walk into the stakes, which is the bar I am setting for cookery.

Same offer tomorrow if I am not on a train. I will write in the morning if the pot is real.