Shouldn't…but Do

Two wine glasses atop a two-foot cleanly sawed tree trunk at noon.

The trunk-cum-coffee table rests in the otherwise spare front yard of a house  facing a busy road.

Driving, as I was, on that busy road, my look was not long.  I was struck by the friendly placement of the glasses, the equivalence of red wine in the bottom of each.  Whoever drank of these cups was at leisure, a shared decision to retire from that place–perhaps last night, when the moon rode behind  iridescent layers of cloud.

I notice this house from time to time.  In autumn, a friendly inflatable, illuminated ghost rears  from the darkness at night, at Christmas, the same sprite inhabits a rotund Santa.

Well worn, the house sits among  few remaining on the road. Except for its seasonal decor, it is grey and white, blending easily with salted road spray from the enormous plows of winter.

The house always struck me as a vestige and I have admired its festive pluck while never seeing  inhabitants upon  the property.

But today, the inside was out.  Two glasses in close, comfortable repose, having delivered, but not entirely depleted,  their spirits.  Filtered autumnal sun undoubtedly spurred a heady bouquet over those glasses.

Glasses left full could have meant waste,  interrupted reverie.  Glasses empty could signal scarcity, drinking as admission to the euphoric world.

Glasses between here and there?  Maybe pleasure, enjoyment of the good things now, the companionship of two,  an evening whose path led elsewhere.

And maybe not.  But happy endings, moonlit nights, and glasses left with just a splash?  It works for me.