Morning Musings

It's a cool, crisp morning in Colorado. Up early like usual, made my chai and took the dog outside to do his normal business. It was a rough night for sleep. Two children and myself in a queen size bed just.....doesn't work.

Trust me...the little one takes up most of the bed, I don't know how, but he does.

It has been awhile since I have posted, mainly because the Fall semester of college classes started up and my days of classes and work are pretty full. So here I am trying to not look like a complete blogging failure.

Just a partial one, it kind of works like an eclipse...

I have nothing in particular to write about, like usual, but I woke up this morning feeling the urge to be creative, to write whatever my soul decided to spill out. So I am going to share with you the imagery and words that came to my mind when I decided to write. Maybe one day it will become a story, but for today...just see it in your minds eye and take a mini trip around the world.


I had a vision this morning. One of open air markets, spices and teas. I have never had the chance to wander through an exotic foreign land but my mind is there. The shops with rugs and tapestries that scream look at me, with their brilliant hues of blue and pink, are lined up along a dusty street. The nondescript buildings behind them do nothing to add to the scene and are barely noticeable as you walk.  A smell hits your nose as you maneuver through the throngs of people. It is a spicy, almost acrid smell and makes your eyes water until you adjust to the smell and forget it altogether. You come across large bowls of spices; bright yellows, adobe reds, deep browns and pure whites fill the clay colored pots that are lined up in perfect rows on a makeshift table. As you linger, an old woman narrows her eyes at you, and watches your every move. The next shop has fresh tobacco and hand rolled cigarettes, and further down are baskets and woven mats. This market isn't large, but it has it's fair share of junk merchant's as well. One man calls out he will sell you two watches, one for parts because it doesn't work, but the other works. You come to the end of the block, and a new sweet smell hits your nose: tea. The last merchant on the block has bins of tea, each fragrant and fresh, some being brewed in pots and some being dried in the hot sun. The tattered sign that hangs in the back of the stall reads in faded blue lettering, East India Tea. The sign looks well over a hundred years old and adds to the nostalgia of the market.....


But like always, reality calls. Children are waking up, calling out to play and eat, so my friends, have a wonderful day, full of your own beautiful visions....

Whether they be real or otherwise.