Last night was reminiscent of Paris, people trickling in slowly, the kitchen a mess of bowls and plates and warmed by the stove, the dining room table covered in jams and fruit and sweet treats, the living room filled with outlandish conversation.
Hugs and large words, trembling with kindness, a gesture here, a knowing look accompanied by a smile and nod as bodies wafted from food to beer to comfortable spots on or around furniture.
Wandering down to the kitchen this morning, the corpses of a thousand crepes sighed as I moved past them, pledging to start the scrub-down as soon as the household wakes up and the noise won't bother anybody.
Wandering into the backyard, a smooth expanse of crisp white silence, my first breaths this morning were rife with content.
We fed the neighbourhood, Cristal and Dave and I, and made them smile, and Saturday night was once more a beautiful warm thing.
Bars and dancing until two days later are indeed a surge of excitement, but this was a different surge of energy entirely.
A crisp, white, burst of happy.
In the kitchen, it is still a perfect cozy shade of warm.