Cosmo amidst the setting sun

And there she sat at the McCormick and Schupmick's place, sipping her cosmo amidst the setting sun of the Baltimore harbor.

As she thought about the approaching season of thanksgiving, she thought about the people, happenings, events, places and chance meetings that she wanted to be thankful for. But the list started seeming awfully long. And while it made her more grateful, it also intimidated her. And then it dawned on her as she witnessed the sun being eaten by the waters that with each passing day, and with each setting sun, there came a promise full of thanksgiving that the day had been done and a new day will come soon enough. And somehow that simple thought made her happy and blissful again!

So there as she sat at the McCormick and Schupmick's place, she started back on her cosmo; took in the changing skies; laughed a little at her surroundings for she knew that they won't remain the same tomorrow; took the last morsel of her peanut butter sandwich; reapplied her makeup for even though the day was done, the tasks at hand were not; and as she pulled her coat over her shoulders, she thanked whoever might listen and saved a little thanksgiving for the approaching day.

The Fire Place

She watched the fire in the fire place burn with a faint glow as she sat on the couch with a leather covered journal, a cup of coffee and a peanut butter sandwich to keep her company.

She loved watching the fire burn. She loved watching how the wood would slowly change in color to become a charcoal and then ash. Ash that is at once suffocating and at once healing. She marveled at the soft music of moisture being taken away by the heat of the fire from the logs. She wondered what the moisture would feel like. Did it hurt or did the moisture take pleasure in that burning; very much like the lover taking pleasure in pain.

She loved the smell of burning wood that would engulf the home; the smell that would begin at one end of the log and proceed to the other. This smell was natural, it gave her the assurance that earth was nearby. Earth where she felt safe, earth to whom she returned after each flight, earth to where she would always belong.

As she sat by the fireplace, soaked her cold hands in the heat of the flames, she found herself playing with the smoke that arose from the place. She wished that she could create imprints from smoke on the pages of her journal. But she could only create imprints in her memory. So she did that. She waited to see if the imprints could create a ripple of imprints just like ink did on subsequent sheets of paper.

But she was too involved in watching the fire in the fire place burn with the faint glow..