I’ve cooked the food and set the table. The dinner party has come and left, we masticated the veggies and the meat. Moved past the dessert of fruit and pie and ice cream cones. The guests left me, dishes are cleared and now washed—I sit and stare at them.
Stories told over dinner have turned into stories to be told. I wait until the inspiration flows and the invites of dinner parties on this side of the world occur. I wait to write, I wait to tell and I’m trying to listen.