Sometimes after dinner, others in the morning, or anytime in between. From busy avenues in bustling cities to cracked sidewalks crisscrossing sleepy neighborhoods. With the summer sun warming our backs or an icy chill as snow crunches underfoot. Going to or going just to go, we go together. Minutes turn to hours and footsteps to miles. Four feet move in rhythm and two hearts in rhyme, things are right where they belong.

Two orange Adirondacks sit on a hill under one assuring maple, a prairie of wild grasses slopes gently away and a green-blanketed mountain swarms into the clear blue sky beyond. The first air of autumn drifts down the valley, tickling bare arms and drawing their hands together. Summer is ended. A few leaves in disparate trees fade into yellow as two hearts synchronize, 2 sets of thoughts merge into one and a current of contentment flows between them, things are right where they belong.

​A book, a nap, a home-cooked meal, a game and a killer brownie, a couple three albums. An undercurrent of conversation, now swift, now easy, only absent to accommodate the space of a song. An escape from mundanity, a return to Life, an example set, a tradition continued, an oasis. Family dinner at the Woods’, the spokes in the wheels that are our college lives. Each Sunday, from noon to nine, things are right where they belong.

We came and went, as does the tide, regular and expected to The Office; sometimes outside the humanities building under the oak trees, sometimes the deck of the student union looking out over the lawn, but usually the window tables of the union with a view of fellow students crisscrossing the mall between classes. Going to bed each night you slept easy knowing there was a place to go the next day, when at certain times, you would commune with 3 of the smartest men you’ll ever know. The learning, laughs, friendship, fellowship, we said among ourselves, things are right where they belong.

Lying under a golden sun with green all around, blue in the sky, birds in the distance, heating up. Maybe you have a book in hand and cold seltzer with lime. You’re putting on a little color, one of Lou Junod’s keys to a good life. Things are right where they belong.

Summer is bookended by Memorial and Labor Day, celebrations of the two things that made this country great. Rhythmic, short work weeks are counted by bbq’s and lazy days, accented by fireworks and vacations. At each beat, each inflection point, lounging on the pool deck watching some combination of siblings, niece and nephew, parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends float on; shielded by my bucket hat and sunglasses; baking in the sunshine. The heat of the day mixes with the warmth of the company to embrace a restless heart. In the arms of that embrace, set apart for a moment, things are right where they belong.

Sitting in this red chair with the clock on the wall in front of me cloaked in shadow, a single ray from the street light making it just about visible, and snow swirling outside; it says the same thing, things are right where they belong.

On the front porch swing with the warm sun on my back and “Movin’ Out” keeping time with the push and pull of my legs. Rocking in a wicker chair with a book and cup of tea as the sun fades beyond the pine trees, casting the prairie wheat in silver majesty, to be replaced by the flickering lights of the fireflies in the thicket and soft chirp of the crickets under the pines as they harmonize with Madeleine Peyroux’s easy voice. If the fireflies would but climb a little higher, they might mingle with the stars above. In that moment, looking up from my book, to the fireflies, to the brilliant stars, things are right where they belong.

Porch nights singing karaoke or playing cards and hosting dinners: the cooking and eating and even the cleanup. The constant in both was the company. Did I understand how good life was in those moments? Laughing, singing, and sharing meals with those people. When I sat at tables flanked by my friends, with dirty dishes in the sink, and a sixpack of beer or a bottle of wine swimming in a sea of playing cards, I hope I said to myself, things are right where they belong.