Pretty Moments

Some tables are set for a holiday and some are set because the roses opened. This is the second kind — a round table pulled into the garden in the middle of an ordinary July afternoon, a cream cloth thrown over it, and every pretty little thing in the cupboard put out at once. Blush toile chargers under white plates, pink bows tied at the stem of the champagne flutes, daisies pressed into the sides of the juice glasses, a bowl of cherries in the middle doing more work than any centerpiece. The palette is soft on purpose: cream, blush, the pale green of the hedge behind it, and just enough gold at the plate rims to catch the light. Nothing matches exactly and that is the point — a cherry glass beside a daisy glass beside a bow-tied flute reads collected rather than bought. Set out strawberries and tarts, pour something cold and pink, knot the napkins loosely, and tuck a sprig of something from the garden into the fold. It takes twenty minutes and it makes an ordinary Tuesday feel like a party someone planned for weeks.