When we opened the curtains yesterday morning, the sky was grey and the world felt dark, even though the sun had risen. Rain pattered on the roof. My friend turned on the fireplace with the flick of a switch. My slippers felt warm on my feet, and we were cozy in the pine-paneled room with our steaming coffee.
We lounged in pajamas in the living room yesterday morning (and afternoon), feet tucked underneath us on the couch or legs stretched out before us on the coffee table. From the moment we woke and poured coffee in our mugs, my girlfriends and I talked.
We talked and laughed for hours. For the two of us who woke early, we were involved in conversations for 16 hours straight. We talked so much I have no brain for writing. As I sit here at my keyboard, I can’t think of a single thing we talked about. There are too many. Maybe when I get home to the stillness of my own house, when it’s silent with nobody around, and I’ve got my fountain pen and my notebook and a flat surface to write on, I will want to dive in and write. But for now I’m going to pour a cup of coffee and go talk to my friends.
Butterfly Mind 