The color of cranberry has turned to pink lemonade over the summer
And the coffee dispensers to mechanized vehicles of coffee propulsion
But the coffee they churn out still tastes like the same old mulch.
As I tell myself to put my personal thoughts aside and write this article,
Type, write, think, type, write, think, type, write, think, write, think,
I realize that it's okay to be suspended in your own thoughts sometimes.
And the pink lemonade cranberry juice still tastes delicious,
I must have forgotten how misrepresentative the labels are,
And I still like sitting alone behind the roll-away wood-paneled walls,
There are many things that are familiar.
So, on Thursday, I haven't opened a book once this week and am still behind on stories,
But I'll take time to enjoy this morning because there are some things that matter more than
oscillations along a vibrating wire
and
W.L. Cleveland's History of the Modern Middle East
and
a page to fill for the Weekend.
Thank you Clemantine for helping me see this.
-BHN
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