Chicken in a stroller
Free the nipple
Sand in your pants
Pineapple on the side of the road
Sitting in the house nude
We talk about the weird things we’ve seen or read about in the past week. I remember some of my own, but they are nothing compared to a woman wearing a metallic bikini top flashing in the sunlight. Still, I list them all. Mine seem boring except for the pineapple on the side of the road.
This morning I listened to the local radio show that is a knockoff of WRGC’s show “Tradio”. A woman called in asking for someone to plow their garden. A band booster thanked listeners for supporting the band. A man wanted to sell 100 gallons of stain for $100. All different colors.
Now a writer jumps up and down in front of the window trying to silence the noise distracting us all. We then laugh about vibrations. Once she found the source of the sound, she resolves the problem and we return to writing in the quiet bookstore. We write in an old house that became a doctor’s office, became a bookstore, became a restaurant. The stories this building could tell. Perhaps it was talking to us today.
Blackberry winter is still here through Tuesday, but Wednesday will be up in the eighties. As a kid, I don’t think it got into the eighties until June. Never one to like hot weather, I often consider moving to cooler places; either farther north or farther up in elevation.
The place where I live now is a wonderful place on top of a mountain. At night, it seems the stars are closer. At times, it feels a though I could kiss the stars. This morning the moon was my bright friend as I took my black dog into the chill. The smells are crisp at four a.m. The road below is quiet and nothing stirs.
The sun rises and the birds are happy. Today is a beautiful day to be alive. I even have a Walmart employee ask if he could help me and several others were smiling. The bookstore is quiet as we arrive. While I wait for my coffee in the cafe below, the cat meows wanting entrance into the cafe. Then the laughter of joining together to write refreshes my spirit. There is peace in the clicking of keys typing out a story. It’s another day in writer’s group.
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