The table is enough

Dinner can be bread and something warm. It still counts. A table isn’t a stage. It’s a place you return to because bodies need a harbor.

We keep waiting for a prettier evening — guests, candles, a meal that looks like a picture. The sunflowers by the old fence don’t wait for a better fence. They open beside what is already there.

Sit. Even if it’s leftovers. Even if you eat alone. Put the fork down between bites. Let the hour have a middle, not only a rush from work to sleep.

This is how a house becomes a home: not with more things, with a place you keep coming back to, hungry and welcome.