There’s something magical about writing for yourself,because the words simply come tumbling out,and then discovering that others read them,relish them,ponder them and are moved enough to respond with words of their own.

I can imagine sitting outside, in the morning with brimming cups of coffee, leaning forward and sharing words with kindred spirits.

I imagine watching the sun set, the sky go from blue to indigo, while sweet wine is poured into my glass, a Chardonnay into the others,as we linger over words we’ve written and read.

I can imagine all this because I dream of the day that it comes. 

Now if only the others could come-I’ll have coffee in the morning,and wine all the time. 
Bring your words, I’ve got mine.