The dog days of summer are not yet upon us, but the thrill of warmth is in the air. Long dormant, our souls and shadows stretch upon the grass of Ft. Reno. We are brushed by the needling fingers of setting solar solice.
With tales of tails we do regale our gathered friends: canids, manids, womanids, amassed for the Ruination of Friday and the settling in of the weekend. What better way to end the day than an IPA, Stone cold perfect to start the soiree. Dogs and candid banter are interleaven, our slice of heaven on a hill.
We are fed a three-course meal of barley, hops and yeast. Following Stone is a Flash of Green, and IPA we've seldom seen. We are gathered close, but in the open, brazen in our disregard for Park Authority and DC law. How much better does the beer taste for this? This, and the company of friends on a glorious DC day, only the hint of a chill, the wind still, the hill alit with the last rays of the day.
And now, the eponymous Ruination, brought forth to much elation. This one is smooth like the skin on cooked chocolate pudding, and balanced as the budget deficit in democrat years. What a fabulous concoction, and I am loathe to pass up a second round (ah, but for the car I have driven!)
The night steals slowly around us as the last drips and drops of barley and hops are siphoned off their lees. We, dogs, kids, people, shuffle slowly back to our microworlds in the city. In a week's time we will convene again, once more, to drink and pour, and share ourselves in splendid company.