The Tuesday Night Club
A heavy air, filled with an aromatic sweet scent of tobacco,
I sit in awe of these translucent friends who discuss and reminisce over historical fact, heresay, deductions of interests and high intelligence.
The tea cups clink as they guide slowly from their saucers and back, a sudden snap of biscuit invites a harsh delivering stare over half glass spectacles,
haughty laughter engages the snigger of familiarity and guile around this country cottage dining table, draped in white linen and populated with edible niceties, the odd glass of totty and Spring flowers vased centrally .
‘Where was I’ snorted Sir Henry as the jibbering and deep thought discussions, diverted from unity to searching for a resolve in catapulting one’s voice to victory,
but as I suspected, it is she who remains quiet, absorbing every detail for outlining her observations, whilst sipping light from her delicate hand painted porcelain vessel, dressed with her own roses and disguised whispering sweet smile.
It’s here amongst the dusky eve that the tall lamp in the corner with a shade of vibrant petals enlightens no one more than I, to remain close and in love with this, their Tuesday Night Club……
© All Rights Reserved, Nick Hawkins 25/3/15