So tonight it is forty-five minutes before sunset. We are in California and we’re walking through a vast orchard of lemon and orange trees. The remaining sun casts long lovely shadows. The aroma of citrus rides the breeze and makes everything smell clean and fresh.  The pickers have built a cooking fire and are busy tending to a whole pig that’s being turned on a spit above glowing hickory coals. Spanish speaking woman throw corn tortillas into well seasoned cast iron skillets, and fajita vegetables sizzle in separate skillets so black from years of cooking that they stand out like silhouettes against the glowing coals below. We roll up our sleeves and help prepare dinner and are invited to join the feast.  Everyone laughs and eats and drinks sangria from cups poured full from earthen pitchers. We enjoy like royalty despite the simple fare.  After dinner we all dance to music played by a band made up of guitars and mandolins.  Later we walk hand in hand back to our cabin and make love and hold each other tight knowing how blessed we are.