The sun reflects blindingly off dwindling patches of white snow. As I precariously dodge mud and sloppy puddles of slush, I realize, too late, white shoes were a poor choice.
The Stuart Furniture Store is a comforting place, with the new smell that excites your desire to acquire new purchases. The lamps, ceiling fans, picture frames, and couches give this place a sense of home, tempting customers to sink deeply into padded leather couches and ask themselves, “How would this look in my house?”
Having the opportunity to commune with other writers is like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, I realize the world is a lot bigger than the small rural town I am from; there are people out there just like me. They are different in looks and personality, perhaps, but attracted to this place on this Saturday when they could’ve been anywhere else, doing anything else because of a deep passion and a common bond-writing. For the power of words and the beauty of arranging and rearranging them to perfection, allowing them at last to all fall like so many puzzle pieces into their final resting places, in the manner you wanted them to, in the order you wanted them to, and communicating through those words what you wanted to say.