Early morning sun.

The matriarch propped up and bathed in light.

Her mouth and forehead lined with concentration as she pores over a text.

She is solving a grammar question.

We laugh at the literal interpretation.

Only half able to explain how we know the answer.

The smell of coffee.

Mismatched cups and a breeze through the high, large windows.

Time is slower now.

The arrival.

The smell of roasting meat.

Everything beautifully laid out.

The chef apparently calm, perspires profusely over his groaning table.

An ice cold glass of vodka mellows time to a heady thrum.

People begin to arrive.

The parents.

Then the boys.

The Gorilla Keeper.

The afternoon speeds up.

A tumble of food, chat and wine.