Greetings, friends.
As the coffee shop hums softly around me, as I listen to the clinking of coffee cups being placed on the waiters' trays, mingling with the whispers of voices in the room, I pause to savor the aroma and sight of my coffee.
What can one think about in moments like these? It's impossible not to think about "what's happening," not only in this instant, this sum of many micro-moments unfolding at each table, but also in my own life.
I think about what led me to sit at this table, in these particular moments of my past and present. I also think about what I'll do and who I'll be after I finish this coffee, get up from the table, and leave the café.
Of course, it's also inevitable that I think about the friends and acquaintances I've shared time with; the friends with whom I usually enjoy coffee in the mornings while we talk about literature and life.
When I think about life, about the future, it's impossible not to think about my son, my family, those people who are the foundation of my life, and how fortunate I am to have them.
I also think about those conversations with my friends. I remember that particular debate where a friend told me I'm blessed to be a poet, to live in poetry, to breathe it.
Poetry can be difficult, it can be difficult for us writers. However, it's a blessing in life, because it allows us to see everything from a deeper, more necessary perspective.
I'm so lucky that all of this can happen in my mind in fractions of a second. I can do all of this, and I do it quickly, before the coffee foam goes down.
