Through the windows of the kitchen…
These were the only windows that side of the house.
Opened on a narrow alley,
but to the west was a garden
with flowers nurtured by my Italian dad.
Through the panes,
we spied the siblings riding their two wheelers
with a screaming appetite for 6PM supper.
the aroma of fresh spaghetti sauce
warmed our nostrils, piqued our saliva.
Six places were set, equally welcoming.
The youngest child was under the table
waiting to surprise someone.
We always pretended to play the script!
Listened.
Laughed.
Ate .
Cleaned up.
Finished the dishes.
Together.
Through the window,
content.
The Vibrant Channeled Creator 