Notes from Cottonwood

The commissary had no turkeys left at all, so we had a chicken. A big one. Chynara and Mirbek came again, with boorsok and a jar of apricot jam. We all went around the table and said thanks and Lily said "for the lanterns", which I still don't understand.

Mirbek said grace in Iradi and Mark said "Amen" a little late. It was the best grace of the year.

I can't vote here, of course. But the neighbors can, and the whole lane across the road was out in their good coats. Chynara said, "this is the last one like this", and when I asked what she meant she said it's a feeling. She wouldn't say more.

From our window the polling station looked like a wedding: lights, tables, folding chairs, children running between the grown-ups. The line went around the corner. Someone brought tea in thermoses for the people waiting.