Under the marquee

It was when I sat cross-legged beside you, as you laid across the mountain of cushions strewn across the floor as if in a sultans throne room, resting your aching body under the marquee, allowing yourself to so easily withdraw from the surrounding conviviality, bringing in a sense of peace I had yet to find, and you opened your eyes, smiling with your fair freckled face, to me, a stranger, that I was surprised, and glad, to find that it was to be the other way around, that it was in fact you, who was to comfort me.