Fuel for Creativity
If I bade them,
“bring the fattened calf,”
a baby cow would have
laid before us, chopped
to perfection — marinade
wafting across the table,
meeting our conversation
in the middle.
The cold air shifting outside,
still sitting in our bones,
filling our blood with
its intensity.
biscuits pop up out of
nowhere begging for
butter and organic jam.
Spoons clank, forks chirp
and whistle, the sound of
coffee being slurped by
a dozen lips—
peace in the midst of turmoil
turns into art.
We sit back,
our proverbial burdens
laid down, jumping from one
shoulder to the next,
crooning about what Writers need
when all we needed at that
moment was fuel
for creativity.
Author’s Note: As the years pile on here in North Carolina, something always occurs to remind me why I moved here and why I yearn to stay.
