If we were having coffee, I would meet you at the little coffeeshop down my street just as the hot scones arrive out of the oven. We would share one of the round white tables by the cottage windows~ the table with the milk bottle full of lilac stems. I would immediately tell you of the great owl that has taken up residence at my husband’s workshop. He lives in our old rafters, bold and brave with little worry. His gaze is both magnetizing and a tad uncomfortable. His quiet stillness belies the breath-taking span of wing when he leaves to hunt. We name him Edward.
The coffee is dark, fresh, strong. The scone light, hot and tender.There are other writers here today, we recognize their set-ups and the look of concentration.
If we were having coffee~we would discuss our writing projects, gesturing wildly, over the coffee mugs. Fret together on how difficult it is some days, before laughing at the sheer fun a dreadfully bloody murder can be. You, and your screenplay, which holds me spellbound. I and my suspense-ridden manuscript that gives you a good squirm.
Over our coffee and scones, we each share the week’s work and promise our review by next week when we will again gather. Coffee,writing, and Edward~