Gather, Neighbor

I remember when a string of lights and a few borrowed chairs could turn an ordinary West Virginia yard into the place everybody wanted to be. Georges has that same knack. Here are rough timber shelters, flowers tucked into every spare corner, and globe lamps hung over a courtyard dressed for company. Those boards have seen better days, but somebody took the trouble to make a welcome mat out of them.

I like to imagine he gathered these odds and ends for a neighbor who had come home after a long spell away. Where Georges himself calls home is still anybody’s guess. Perhaps that is why a place like this suits him: no fine attire required. I would call it Gather, Neighbor, because an invitation ought to sound like you mean it.