family dinner

we pulled up to my brother's house with the clouds filling the valleys and mountains peaking out like small islands in a vast sea of mist and fog. the wind had died down from two days before and the temperature crept into the mid-thirties. my brother and his girlfriend met us outside and the four of us loaded into his car.

my grandmother's home is full of people upon arrival, and we gather in the kitchen just as we did when i was young. there are three grandsons, two daughters, two (future?) daughter-in-laws, one matriarch and my grandfather.

not in the room are one grandson, one daughter, her husband, and seven (past) son-in-laws. these demographics are importantly only in that they speak of what once was, and they echoed the previous day's premonition of new beginnings and nostalgia.

the scene around the table is eerily Hallmark-like. there is a sense of togetherness, a sense of relation, a sense of comfort that goes beyond familial familiarity. i could name the pieces, but not the magical way in which they all fit together.

it is as if all the cosmos conspired, and allowed the grooved dysfunction of habit and personality to recede for the afternoon, giving us a glimpse at what has always been just below the surface.