An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Three in the morning too late to sleep, lie there or will you get up? So many worries what will happen tomorrow? Will things be all right? It all feels for naught when all you see are dark clouds. Brace for the sunshine. Look out the window And the world is still asleep And all is quiet. Then the sky is born Rosy pink light in the East Chase all the fear away. The impact you make might not be felt for a while. Keep doing good things.

The Spirit is Willing but the Hands won't work So many ideas put on hold. Playing scenarios in my head black and white, like a noir film forgotten. Heating pads like oven mitts I hold a steaming cup of chai between frozen fingers Pencils lay unused the Muse cries out for attention I tell Her to wait. Ink runs dry dust collects on the letters that need to be answered. Thoughts chase in circles Needing to write, write, write but fingers cry out for rest. Tender Loving Care and the knowledge that the Body just knows what's best.

The first of November the morning is already colorless and grey It's like flipping a switch suddenly winter has already gained a foothold. There is one thing that shatters the illusion it's still seventy degrees Hardly crisp brisk weather don't need the sweaters or the heavy jackets yet. A month and a half until Christmas chimes in but the weather is like spring. I stand on the porch the winds are picking up but it hardly feels like autumn. It's contradictory makes me wonder how the world is changing.

Raindrops quiver at the edge of clouds like tears being held back by pure force of will. The sun has abandoned the skies above for greener pastures and more cheerful views. Grey clouds as the seasons turn warmth chased out by cooler winds and life fades leaving grave markers behind. The veil between the worlds thins for just this one time look between time and space open your heart and mind. What secrets can you learn what knowledge can you acquire even as the night finally succumbs and cries in cold rain.

The miracle drink that helps me push through the day. Through the sniffles and the fatigue and the ringing on the phone. On a cold autumn morning when it is quiet and still contemplating over a single cup. The very aroma takes me back late nights grading papers. In a cafe watching the customers sketching their lives. It's 2 A.M the baby refuses to sleep it becomes a much-needed ally. Mug in hand I somehow work through this heavy fatigue Tonic of the Goddess locked in a handful of beans I depend on this kindness.

Quiet days perpetual coffee in warm mugs just me and my boy he keeps his spirits up even while he has a cough and the yucks but his smile always brightens my day. Not your typical young adult he sees the world with fresh eyes and is able to get around an electronic landscape he loves to draw and write his thoughts even when he has trouble putting them together. A toddler in an adult's body and days can be challenging but he has a good heart and he quietly keeps being himself.