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About This Author
A changeling spirit,
constantly evolving,
revolving around an inner core,
spinning forth legend and lore,
stories and lives
as I come to grips
with who and what I am,
have been and may be.
I am a phoenix:
rising ever above and beyond!
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10-7 October NaNo prep The wrought iron chair had absorbed the warm spring sunshine and was warm as she sat. The small two seater table just under the red and white striped awning was her favorite place in Paris to sit, sip her strong coffee and simply, write. She loved it here just off the cobble-stoned street where people bustled or strolled. It was like a live fashion show as it seemed that no proper Parisian ever went anywhere without dressing to the nines . . . regardless of exactly how their clothes added up to that mystical number 'nine.'
The scents of the bougainvillea and begonia, scarlets, purples and whites over-flowing the hanging baskets wafted in the breeze and mixed with the smells of the coffees and expressos creating a perfume she would forever associate with Paris; not Channel, not even the glorious odor of freshly baked breads as magnificent as they might be, no, the floral-coffee smell would always bring a light to her eye and a half-smile of remembrance.
She sipped her hot coffee now, letting the flavor slide over her tongue. She tapped her pen against the cup as she searched for a specific word. A plop of a raindrop had her glancing skyward, as the yellow sun kissed clouds wept; for sheer joy, she thought. Grinning at her almost purple prose description; but it was true. The skies, the light in Paris was different that it was at home in Boston or even in Venice or across the channel in London. She didn't know why it was, nor did she particularly care; she just enjoyed the fact that it was.
A strand of her long tawny blond hair blew across her face and she absently tucked it behind her ear. An elderly woman walked by carrying her net bag skewered with several long baguettes. A young woman walked past marshaling her four children along two by two. A young man minced along, pulled by three shitzus on purple leashes. An elderly couple limped by, hand in hand. She smiled, assigning imagined names and characteristics to each, filing them all away to appear at some future point in time in a novel or short story. |
© Copyright 2011 Fyn (fyndorian at Writing.Com).
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