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.