Diary

Yesterday...
I could have playacted a character snatched out of a Joan Baez song or the tragic victim that makes for the subjects of Marianne Faithfull's own dissipation in her subdued ballads.
Or I may have strayed through the forest, watching trees with Enya.
It rained all day in Dublin and so softly, the skies may have hummed a lullaby. I myself, could have strolled into the scene of a poignant film with my colourful umbrella, joining a silent mutiny with a carnival of others who dodged their own to avoid being hit by mine and still others who dashed about in raincoats and winter hoods.
Together, we formed a street orchestra...a Broadway musical with lively moves, hushed down to 'mute'.
My gaze everywhere was wistful, pensive, thoughtful.
The Liffey River danced wildly to the tickle of heavy raindrops. It looked like a cauldron of boiling stew. Unappeased and unsettled. I could not find the ladle to stir its fury to a new glory.
Everywhere I felt the poignancy of an invisible romance grip me like steel.
Sandwiches and coffee...sandwiches and coffee...and sandwiches and coffee...
Finally content and made warm by the intimacy of a friendly cafe, across the river, I spent the afternoon writing my new story in my new writing voice...a female character I must learn to love shortly if the story is to continue.
I rediscovered a passionate pursuit for reading.
And now, a passionate re-discovery for writing. I wrote until dark.