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

My mind cannot let go of what went before turning every stone looking from every angle worrying it like a dog gnawing on a bone. What should I have said? What should I have done? Could it have ended differently? How will things change? What will happen now? Pore through every detail talk about it at every turn until the sympathetic smiles become strained their amusement becomes fake. I know I should stop let bygones be bygones fade into the past but I see it everywhere I turn the lost chances mock me. One day my thoughts latch onto some other subject where I cannot stop thinking and obsessing again the roller coaster starts once more.

In the depths of a tea cup the tea leaves sink down in different kinds of patterns random it seems or is it? Turn over five cards pictures in a puzzle try to make sense of it put it in context. Oracle bones from long ago cracks from the fire of fiery earth read in the moment mirroring the grooves in the turtle's shell or the runes carved in a magical formula for protection. Apply the known to the unknown to soothe a troubled mind.

The quiet ones hold the most secrets they speak them to the wind to the soil let the earth hear with every grain that slips through their fingers. Tell your story to the clouds and let their tears fall in cold droplets upon the seeds that lie buried, asleep until the bloody flowers erupt in the springtime. The stars witness every triumph and atrocity as they crawl in slow motion an eternity in a second a lifetime in a blink but they say nothing mute and not revealing the ending to the tale although they know.

A beautiful sight a row of colorful spines all facing you. A world by itself running your fingers along the line of thoughts condensed into parcels of knowledge. What secrets would they impart? What worlds would they unlock with every soft whisper of thin page? How will you know if you do not delve into this perfect line unless it is meant to just gather dust.

Sand slips through the hourglass clouds disappear the brook babbles secrets only time can understand. Snow lies heavily on the mountain the seas roil with thunder the Fates hold their collective breath and see what happens. Fire claims more and more chaotic wind scatter all in their wake every step leaves a footprint every pleas goes unheard. Sun and moon discuss what is necessary for the balance if the light is the darkness should it tilt the other way? The smell of incense and spring used to clear the holy spaces but the clamor of false teachings delay, distract, demean. Short term sights, long term blind No worries about tomorrow Let the bygones be bygones and the chickens come to roost.

A third of an inch not all that much but they have never seen snow before We tend to dismiss such little amounts of precipitation not enough to bother us. But they pile out and sift it in their hands get enough to throw it among loud laughter. It's enough to make you pause and remember the memory of a first sight of snow and how magical a moment it is. So I watch out of my office window and smile at their happiness the children have this forever to cherish in their hearts.