In which The Gay Recluse lives in the past.

Our favorite part of Thanksgiving this year was not the food, but the table,* particularly after it was set and waited patiently in the late afternoon sun.

Accompanied by the cats, we spent quite a few minutes quietly circling the table, observing the way the light reflected off the crystal and the silver and imagining the many souls who had sat down in this room on Thanksgivings past.

We felt as if our recurring dream to be transported into another era — less cruel and more beautiful than our own — had at last come true.

*We would like to note that all credit for this presentation goes to Stephen.