There is a subtle joy in sitting at the C&A, here, on a beautiful Monday afternoon that seduces us with the promise of Spring. I am surrounded by Daly, Levinas, several pints of Shiner Bock and yet, I am inspired not to work, but to melt, relax, and reflect.
The bar, filled with quiet, curious souls, does not look like the bar on Friday night. A strange calm permeates the air and I reach again for a half-cold leftover french fry. Marley on the loudspeaker morphs into Blondie who morphs into the Old 97's. A grackle--otherwise known as a coal-black urban crow, boldly jumps on my table, my makeshift desk, and I notice he is not black but rather a pallet of muted blues and purples, navys and greens. The crow realizes I have no food to offer, for the french fries are eaten, and flies to another table.
A delivery boy, surely a savior to us bar-flies, drives up and delivers several kegs of the god's nectar. Does he know he is a bringer of salvation? Does he realize the power he holds? Blessed is he that comes in the name of the beer!
The wind blows, a soft, chilly kiss on my cheek. I shiver, reaching, at first for my well-worn jean jacket, but yet, the sun warms again, and the jacket remains a rumbled pile of denim on the "desk." And I think, and type, and write...and I pause...and I stop typing (only for an instant).
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
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Meredith returns to the blogosphere. And there was much rejoicing (yay).
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