I Never Should Have Come Back Inside

The evening of my birthday was outdoors. I was sitting on our newly home-made patio with a small group of friends. Overhead, was a string of white ball-shaped lights, like those found at an outdoor cafe or on the rails of a luxury cruise liner. To my left, was a roaring fire in a black metal fire pit. The sticks that used to be the dead tree in our yard were now hissing and crackling and the flames were jumping around chaotically, casting dancing shadows across the lawn and on the garage wall.

It was unseasonably cool, and the fire gave off a perfect warmth. The smoke kept the mosquitoes away and the conversation flowed effortlessly around our little circle. Laughter was abundant and echoed off into the dark corners of the yard where it mingled with the thick curtain of crickets and peepers and cicadas.

It seems like it's been further and further between evenings like these. Get-togethers and groupings of friends seem to rely on a center piece of activity lately. Maybe it's a concert, or a movie, or bowling, or dinner. It's always something. It's never "Hey, wanna come over?". It's like you need an excuse these days.

Some time ago, it was easier. You just hung-out and things happened as they happened. I miss that. Everything seems to end up at a bar now. My favorite kind of nights are nights like last night. It wasn't a party. It wasn't an event. It was just a few friends goofing around in the cool late summer evening.

Birthday perfection.

But I never should have come back inside. I've just spent the past 20 minutes scrolling through headlines and forums and have been bombarded with bad news and threats and power-struggles and wars and dangers and terror and lies and arguments and complaints. None of this stuff existed last night. It was just crickets and jokes.

I never should have come back inside.