I give thanks for the life that I have today. I am grateful to have the full use of my limbs, the ability to speak and to listen. I enjoy touch and touching; taste wonderfully flavours; smell beautiful aromas; and yes, to see so much and understand some. (Not as much as I could, but enough. Better than none is not a bad mantra.)
I give thanks for food on the table and the roof above my head (and all my neighbours next door, above, below — thank you for being considerate and noisy at odd hours of day). I’m blessed to have a good job, a great boss, and to make enough to pay my bills. I travel. I love travelling.
I am healthy and so is the love of my life. We get to travel. We love travelling. We get to spend time together. What a blessing.
Thank you. Oh thank you very much.
I’m walking past this café and I notice this lady with amazing 60s-era spectacles. She had ordered a long black in a takeaway cup and asked for some ice on the side. A careful operation ensues: a few sips of the hot coffee; blowing furiously to cool it like some gale across a devil-black sea; then a couple of ice cubes at a time; repeat.
This, she tells her friend, is instant iced coffee … for the price of a hot one, plus free ice.
Resourceful? Entertaining, certainly. Made my morning.
I walk on with a smile on my face.
You don’t know this but before I started writing stories about you, for you, I would draw your face on pieces of notepaper, a map of my desire. For my eyes only. The devil I wasn’t afraid of; only tempted by.
Who knew, back then, that you’d be my destiny, and remain so, still?
Those sketches, those lines, are long gone. A wastepaper basket, the garbage truck, some landfill.
But your face remains, and my map too; only now not of desire, but of something stronger and sweeter than what it was back when. Your smile mirrors mine. These wrinkles at the edges of our lips when we kiss are the best lines. These, we sketch together. All it takes is time.
Let’s take our time.