To sit, in the afternoons, in a secluded pavement cafe, beside a sleepy street, sip chocolate hot or cold, or even green tea and – write…
The sunlight will dapple welcomingly all around and fall slantwise on my lightly ruled notebook, lighting up the words written with my pilot pen.
Passersby ambling along will look at my rapt expression and smile – indulgently. They’ll nod to one another and say, ‘Writer at work!’
For I will be clad in artist’s clothes – long skirt, gypsy top and lots of bangles and open wind-worried hair. Dark kajal will line my eyes, bringing depth and mystery to my glance.
There will be an ease to my walk, a swing in my laugh. I will be relaxed and elated and ready to share the ecstasy trapped inside.
A cocoon of inspiration will form over me and I will beam beatifically, lost in imagination, and just write.
And soul stories.