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

At one point it was okay to pretend that everything was going to be all right. The blinders have been lifted things are real. Reality has hit and history has repeated. I see a possible bonfire my kids' futures suddenly turn to ash and slip through my fingers but I refuse to give up I refuse to give in But I will not curl up and die. There are still good people in this world We need to stick together. The dawn will rise once more.

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.