Everyday Events #2 (stream)

I am trying a series of stream pieces

Snow clings to my coat. It is a cold evening, the glass - the large windows, are coated in a sheen of condensation. It must be very warm in the coffee house tonight. As I walk in, I take my usual table - in the center of the room. I like to feel the energy around me as I work.

 

Setting down my Books Rock tote bag, I unbutton my coat, working quickly, eager now for a warm cup of the deep dark French roast - rich and creamy - and robust. I plan to get some serious work done tonight. The din of the coffee house a symphony as I let the words pour out of me. The clang of the mugs - cymbals - the sharp pulses of the espresso machine - a harmony of flutes - the opera of human voices - as they talk quietly a chorus and as they speak loudly in solos.

 

Music to the mind as words pour forth. I cannot create in a quiet room. I must feed on the din - as I allow the words to work their magic.

 

At the counter the Barista - already has my coffee ready. "Welcome back - we missed you last week." I smile. I was not there the previous week - not in my normal spot - not in the middle of my symphony. I had been ill.

 

"Yeah, I missed you. A bit under the weather, but tonight, I hope to make up for lost time."

 

Truth be told, I was under the weather - but not with any disease a doctor could correct. I have been stuck. Stuck in a place where the words in my head will not form - they are there but I cannot see them. We play hide and seek, they tease me - images abound, but remain in a mist. No form and substance. It is the very sickness that plagues so many of us. Tonight, in my favorite coffee house in my treasured center row spot, I hope to break through the mist and create again. The words feel like they want to flow. It feels very much as it does when one is about to cry. The welling up of tears - the sense of pending or waiting for just that first one to streak down the fleshy part of my cheek. Knowing it is coming - this is the feeling I carry with me today. The words are piling up, just waiting a moment and then they will flow forth - unstoppable until they are spent and I am exhausted from my effort to keep pace with them.

 

Taking my coffee and returning to my seat, I open my computer and begin to type, slowly the words appear on the screen my hands moving over the keys - as a pianists does - my eyes focused, my hands moving as if a puppeteer hidden from view is control them.

 

On and on I type, the story taking shape - I am free in the moment - writing and the out pouring continues for sometime - until the words - which had been piled up in my mind have ended and I take a deep breath and clear my head. Needing a rest. I look at my watch and notice that I have been enchanted for well over an hour.

 

Feeling somewhat depleted, I look around the room, hoping to borrow some energy from the crowd. Perhaps then I can continue.