This afternoon I went to my writers group and met with TurtleDove, Magpie and our new ‘fledgeling’ recruit – Swift (the long-flight migrator). After many tortuous hours hammering on plastic keys, in an attempt to protract my script, I happened out into a bright sky and a down-ruffling breeze.
Both Magpie and Swift took flight to somewhere far off, and so it left myself and TurtleDove with little to do but to grab a coffee and have a twitter about things.
We talked about scripts and poetry (Anne Michaels ‘Flowers’ to be exact, as it was the only one I could remember even part of) and our favorite types of puppy.
As ever though, I got uneasy with eating up someone’s time. So much scripting has already been avoided, because of your’s truely, that I could hardly expect yet one more to fall from the sky.
So, not long later, TurtleDove’s sensible migratory instinct kicks-in (without the need for suggestion) and I wave her on her way. [Of course, like many times before, I walk her to her stop and watch as she disappears on me quicker than I can motion a goodbye.]
Now at a loss until the gig, that will be happening later on, I wandered the streets like an urchin. Luck finds me a seat in a cafe and I’m able to imbibe another coffee and scribble some sentences down. Before long many others have had the same idea. The place is packed with all sorts of people, most probably down to the Everton match.
(As an aside – MY GOD were people happy with that result or what!?!? I’d already been accosted by a group of three guys with friendly banter and legs a-faulter)
Looking around the cafe, my attention is quickly taken by a lone girl looking lonesome.
Could I help myself? No. Whenever can I?
We’ll call this one Nightingale, firstly because ‘what she had to say was so enrapturing’ and secondly because ‘she had an aversion to one of my favorite romantic poets’. (Which was slightly wonderful, because I like a girl who can have her own opinion.)
A coy little introduction and a graceful landing was made.
Regardless, I took to the next thing on my nut-sized mind.
The inquisition began with a question about the theory of there being a god. I thought it apt to ask the most unanswerable question to test her good graces. With humor she took to it and I was soon challenged in turn… regaled with stories… and eventually intrigued by the occasional pulling back from an awkward topic.
One coffee ends up being three (all in different places) and then we’re on to 7pm.
We got lost in well-spent moments.
The thing with Nightingale is that she is too smart for her own good. Having understood that I was only interested in prolonging our meeting – she saw fit to extract every possible truth from me. Until I’m flat-out admitting that I find her attractive beyond measure. Even to the point of telling her my feathers were being ruffled by the attention she was getting from a rival male.
I don’t think I was unduly honest, though I get the feeling that I might have said a few things that would have been better left unspoken until a bit later on.
In the end, rather than being tongue-tied, I found myself spilling my guts about how much I wanted to see her again.
After all the banter, one thing is evident about this latest interest and that is that pace is to be a prerogative.
Filed under: Coffee, Friends, Future, Girls, Happy, Library, Poetry, Strangers, Women, connection, hopes, poet, prose, writing , afternoon, Coffee, coke, conversation, lonesome, Magpie, migration, Nightingale, Poetry, romantic, screnzy, script, script frenzy, stories and well-spent moments, Swift, TurtleDove, writing, writing group
