Falling Into

There is a seduction in writing 27 days in a row.  It needs to be 28.  A “have to” emerges which does not foster the richness of living.

I woke up this morning saying “What will I write about today?”  Wrong question.  My calculating brain scanned what I know about Ghent.  It focused.  It tried.  And what it came up with was “Tourists”.  Surely I could say something meaningful about them.

As I sat in Caffè Rosario later, sipping my flat white coffee, the error of my ways washed over me.  What was needed for today’s words was a wide open sky, not a surgeon’s scalpel.

So I let go into my croissant and the people walking by.  The bell of the tram beside matched the flow of its windows.  I sank down into something comfy.  My coffee became my coffee and all was right with the world.

I felt taken by a mysterious hand, beckoned to parts unknown.  I grasped those outstretched fingers with my own.  I followed into the mist. 


It’s hours later now.  The thought just came “Who knows where we’ll end up?”  I really need to let go of some vocabulary.  There’s no “ending up” here.

What I didn’t tell you was that as the moments in Caffè Rosario came, lingered and floated away, today’s “topic” said hi.  When I got home, I even changed the title of this post from “Visiting Folks” to … something else.  Now I will change it again because the “new” topic isn’t fresh anymore.  Perhaps tomorrow it will be again.

Now … for a title that makes me smile.  How about “Falling Into”?  Yes, that will do nicely.