The next morning

The other night we ventured out to do an evening picnic along the Danube. We are making due without the picnic backpack, last used at Tanglewood. We have now acquired a few utilitarian containers and stemware that are suitable for carrying over short distances. I packed a salad with hard-boiled eggs and local sauerkraut. My husband cooked spaghetti with his homemade sauce. There was a bottle of local wine.

The picnic table in the woods was swarming with mosquitos. We ended on the bank perched on the boulders with the containers on our knees. The mosquitos were still bad but after dusk faded and the wine took effect, we didn't notice. It seemed as if we could reach out and touch the lit up cruise ships passing in the dark. 

The rocks were hard. Our knees were stiff. We gathered everything up, well almost everything. Cell phone flashlights were lit, in vain, to try to find P's handkerchief. 

The next morning he returned and documented the recovery of the blue cloth.