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

Waiting for autumn where the sun's rays do not scorch the earth they pull back a bit to warm, but not burn And the air becomes cool crisp like a red apple in season. Campfires crackle we wear sweaters curl up under cozy blankets hot chocolate and tart cider hayrides and pumpkins leaves crunch under your feet. The earth prepares to go to sleep the dark encroaches earlier and earlier cold winds blow to usher in the last dregs of the old year.

Head empty stuffed full of fog coffee hasn't kicked in to clear the cobwebs what do I write about? What words of wisdom or what wave of emotion do I have today? Unfortunately I'm not sure if I have any today. A very long week a very long morning my brain can't focus. And the hours pass from breakfast to lunch. Ignoring the stats tired of the algorithm how many people actually read my words? More than I think but when I can't be witty or find the expressions to express my heart and soul. So today I just let my fingers find the keyboard my muse spill her thoughts as it flashes across my eyes raw and unfettered no chains to bind what comes to mind as it translates into worlds.

All prompts from #vss365 on Twitter. Prompt words are marked with #.  I. Don't release the hounds. All of them are out for blood. #slaughter everyone. II. Meet in a tavern the barkeep's cellar has rats one #quest to start all. III. Mother's lullaby she sings the baby to sleep the world just listens. IV. A #misty morning campsite is peaceful, quiet Nature is at peace. V. The #little insults all pile up in a short while so I turn and leave. and you still can't understand just why I can't take a 'joke'. VI. When I was a child I watched an #orchestra play Wanted to be there and now I watch my daughter proudly from the audience. VII. Her very #dry humor might not be to your liking it's an acquired taste. VIII. They say #idle hands are sure to cause wicked souls so keep them busy so they do not have the time to even think of mischief. IX. Take me to #dinner good food and good company at home or just out I just want to be with you and for you to be pres...

What we do in the world no matter how major or how minor causes a ripple that extends outwards touching everyone even those we never meet. The overworked koan of the sound of one hand clapping or a butterfly flapping its wings is not as trite as it seems. The stone thrown into a lake is felt at the far shore. It might radiate slowly over days, months, years. You might never know the effects of your actions at all.

All assembled in the study Look around at the expectant faces. Wishing they were someplace else or wringing their hands in worry. Are they concerned or are they guilty? Or are they relieved that the killer will be unmasked? Angry for this waste of time? Every expression unique but timeless at the same time. What are your own thoughts? Are you innocent or are you guilty? Will you be surprised? Will you get away with the crime? the detective has all the clues he stands in front and outlines every bit of his thought process here it comes: the big reveal and it's not what you think.

What would happen if time flowed in reverse? Born old possessing all of life's knowledge then growing younger until you are innocent as a helpless babe? A brief window of opportunity to experience all that life has to offer at the peak of your existence when you have all that you desire and all that you expected. It already happens. One comes into the world with fate already written but many paths to get there. The tipping point is different for everyone. But the march begins the river of time flows ever onward. From the beginning to the flower either full or cut in its prime back to the beginning again.

Over the years I've had to hide my ambition my hopes my dreams. Walk a thin line between what is acceptable and what demons lurk in the depth of dark dreams The perfect person who never gets angry who always works towards the greater good. The one who wears everyone's badge of approval. But in the shadows I'm a raven who is longing to break free and bring havoc to the world.

I'm already a ghost No one sees me Invisible As if I'm not here They explain every detail to me although I was sitting right there when it happened. Very self absorbed to the point where I do what is necessary to keep the wolves away. They're so comfortable that I'm always there to fix things to bail them out to clean to talk to others on their behalf. I wonder what will happen if I just walk out that door and then they have to deal with people themselves.

Pick out the shells from eggs recently broken. They are rather fragile and quite elusive. The tiniest shard can turn up as a surprise. You have to be careful not to leave any behind. Or it will make your dish unpleasantly crunchy. You have to clean up the mess so you don't accidentally step on one and become paranoid literally walking on eggshells. You can't make scrambled eggs without cracking a few but you can throw the refuse away to rot in a landfill or you can use them to grow new life in dark soil or make them into art to please the delicate eye.

Effigies in repose grand tombs in marble marking the resting places of powerful people but the most important one is the simple marker in the floor in the back of the cathedral. A respectful silence muted sounds sunlight streams through stained glass windows like beacons from Heaven throws shadows that move from tomb from tomb restless like the dust motes that float in the air. When the sun sets and the elaborate candelabra are lit just like they have been since time immemorial and the petitioners leave that is when the silence becomes loud with the echoes of those whose bones lay deep within the foundations.

I. Music, my refuge I lose myself in the notes Away from it all Just me and my instrument and no one is involved. II. Let melody flow harmony for heart alone and unspoken words. III. Until cymbals clash of real life and its demands crescendo so loud impossible to ignore heavenly time is over IV. Looking at the score: jump directly to the end and play the coda. .

Night descends on the camp site the fire throws shadows all around hiding the surrounding trees the darkness broken by cheerful fireflies. The silence interrupted by the nightingale singing a sad song the crickets chirping hello to each other the owl stirs from its slumber for its usual hunt. Wood crackles consumed by the light. Simple meals shared between friends stories and laughter echo from the heart. A world untouched by the hum of daily life a simple connection for you and me.

I. Each day I wake up the rain batters the windows while the summer sun peeks out from behind the clouds waiting for the storm to pass. II. The shower runs cold I know it will not get warm bites with icy teeth On one hand I do get clean but the chill sinks deep within. III. I know I should eat though I don't feel like I could. So I compromise: last night's pizza with a mug of my bitter black coffee. IV. My mind in a fog what day of the week is it? How much have I lost in this deep dark mire I'm in? and thunder still booms outside. V, My steps feel heavy one foot and then the other Go through the motions no one ever notices no one ever sees my pain. VI. How long can I live in perpetual darkness wading through blackness when my soul still yearns for light that seems so very very far?

Frog sitting serenely on a toadstool what a strange thing to see on our journey through the fae forest. Dressed in fine silks sitting cross-legged and smoking a pipe full of fragrant smoke. Big bulging eyes watching intently as if divining all your secrets. It smiles beckoning without saying a word. Does it have a quest for us? Is it an enemy? Why don't we find out.

Beware of thorns hidden in the white rose bushes Lurking in the shadows of twisted vines and dark loamy soil. Elegant and ethereal not bold like crimson but it stands apart in a sea of color. Transparent like moonlight condensed in the form of a beautiful flower. You try to pick beautiful blooms but your fingers must avoid being pricked so your blood doesn't flow red and stain the petals.

I'm used to frets. I know where to put my fingers to play the correct chords. Years of practice my mind automatically goes where it needs to flowing from one note to the other one piece to the other. All in the same key and in same tempo. But when I switch instruments I must train my body and my fingers again a different mindset a different time.  

She exists in a different direction from all the others. Anticlockwise instead of like the all the rest. they say she is contrary odd, strange and weird unorthodox thinks outside the box. Marches to a different drummer. She shows up to the opera in pastel pink and tennis shoes with bows in her hair She dances with little skill but no less enthusiasm. She isn't 'normal': she's gone widdershins a loony but she lives life on her terms and will stay that way. .

Born to ramble never staying in one place for very long. Wanderlust to see everything there is to see mountains that stretch on forever oceans that touch the horizon flat plains for miles azure skies with puffy white clouds grey light with the taste of storms to come bright honeybees darting from flower to flower in meadows of grass rolling carpets all over the hills the cold bite of snow the searing heat of the sun so many changes in a day's walk and songs and stories spill out in word and song a diary of a life well lived and in the end the fog that creeps over reveals new worlds.

Rain patters on the roof lulling me into dreams Steady, rhythmic a heavenly song punctuated by the drums of thunder and the cymbal crash of lightning. The groans and sighs of a dimly lit house frames of wood and stone resonate with the power of the storm. The howl of wind beat against the window thwarted in its goal to get inside. Single drops and long lines of water flowing down the drain to the street below. Pooling into puddles ankle deep in places nowhere to go. The whole world drenched in Nature's fury.

I. Hop on the Blue Line The streetcar through the city still a novelty powered on electric tracks go all over the city. II. Watch all the faces as passengers come and go work and home and back This streetcar is a godsend to get a gallon of milk. III. Watch out the window at the towering skyline over city's edge where the dingy walls all glow with street artists' creations. IV. See how it changes from factories and rubble run down apartments children playing in the streets hanging out on the corners. V. Invisible gate leading to a brand new world: shops and restaurants leading to the district where steel and glass towers rise. VI. Government buildings banks and expensive hotels the concierge waits for the drivers to give them the precious keys for the night. VII. It's amazing how two worlds can coexist bleed into the other gradually transition as the streetcar drives on by. VIII. From one end of town to the other and then back all day, every day Feast your eyes out the windo...

Pen paralyzed on the page The words will not come the images remain stubborn not wanting to be transferred onto paper. Imagination fails me The memory of your lips your smile your laughter dim behind an invisible wall even though I see your visage every day. The colors are muted my brush freezes with indecision Why am I blocked from the flow from which I hone my craft?

Jolly pumpkin in August They already have Halloween on the shelves Ghosts and ghouls are there year round They don't wait for October. The next aisle over are red holly berries in green leaves stockings and figurines Might as well set up your winter wonderlands while it is a hundred degrees outside. And turkeys go gobble gobble on placeholder napkins and gravy boats for Grandma's evening dinner complete with cranberry jelly. I wonder if they all get confused: Spooky ghosts haunt Santa's elves while being pursued by a clueless turkey.

Every puzzle losing vital pieces after all these years. The main picture having gaps here and there What is that? A face that is familiar but the name eludes me. Grasping at straws knowing that once upon a time that image was whole. It's important how can I forget something that means so much to me? Frustration and sadness. Holes in memory and life experiences irreplaceable.

Her confidence shines with every note that she plays she's found her calling. A shining beacon under the spotlight on stage the spell of music captivates everyone there all eyes are on her rapture. Just her alone yet she is not all by herself. Orchestra silent. It seems effortless hard work under the surface no one sees the sweat and tears all leading to this moment Forsaking all that might have made her life easy music her mistress. Always plagued by doubt Am I really good enough? Trust your inner voice. Work towards your inner goals Yes, you do have what it takes.