On Mondays, I write
with a friend. It’s like a ritual. I pick up my friend and we go to a local
restaurant for breakfast. That’s where we talk about our week and our problems
or whatever has happened to us, since our last meeting.
Afterwards, we end up
at the library, where we sit at a table, in front of a glass door, connected to
three tall windows. Supposedly, this is where we do our writing or whatever
project that we are involved in. But beyond the glass view, there is a
misshapen tall pine tree. The tree has become a comfortable sight for me, as I
have studied it during my writing lulls. I have watched it from season to
season, during the rain, snow, sunshine, and the dreary Pittsburgh days. At
first, I only noticed the green pine needles. But soon, I have noticed the
brown knobby trunk and all the brown limbs, some stripped of its bark, peeled
off and missing. Then I begin to notice the cluster of brown pine cones.
I wonder – how old is
this tree? Did the builders of Northland Library have pity on that tree and
spared its life? Did they purposely build the glass door to the patio with and
expansive view? Did they do this so that someone like me might be able to sit
at a table and be inspired by that pine tree or be comforted by it like an old friend?
Right now, the snow has
been steadily falling and some of the limbs are filling up with snow. In a little while my creative juices will dry
up, I will pack up my writing bag, go home and type up whatever I have written.
Then next week, on Mondays,
I will be back at the same table writing, wondering, staring at the same tree,
and hoping my writing will be inspired.
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