My breakfast toast slid off my plate as I turned to offer him a taste.
Face down on the pavement, the melted cheddar cheese stretched and yawned
as I lifted it from it’s resting place.
A stringy mess left a sweaty oily yellow mark and only sparrows and squirrels would have a taste now.
I reached into my leather satchel for a napkin to rid my nail of the last drops of dairy fat.
The smell of tanned hide brought memories of cool hallways filled with oak barrels aging fermented spirits.
Sweet reverie of a day spent sipping their contents from a wine glass, knitting together the memory of nodding sunflowers in the unforgiving sun of midsummer while I wandered a foreign countryside.
The hardback book tucked away in my satchel filled with the stories of my days chasing
inspiration along winding roads past landscapes organized into tidy pasture and hills striped with twisted vines in neat rows.