You sit in the diner,
sipping the thin coffee,
eating the day-old bread.
Rain is falling
and the diner is mostly empty.
The waitress and the cook are gossiping by the stove
as you stare out the window,
your mind as empty as the sea,
a victim of too much,
hungry for silence,
for empty roads
and silent seas,
hungry for the woman you love
and her warm presence at your side,
for the safety she brings.
A seagull flys overhead to the jetty
and drops an oyster to the stone wall
where it breaks open: Breakfast.
It eats, and flies away.
A tear slips down your cheek,
not of sadness exactly, more a recognition
that with change comes loss,
even when joy is the result.
That is the trade off
and there is always a tradeoff.
It is the way of the world,
a constant transforming,
sometimes quiet, sometimes raucous,
Sometimes silent, invisible and denied.
You sip your coffee,
and empty your mind, content
to simply be,
no, more than content, needy
and grateful and strangely happy
even as the storm approaches.
Perhaps you will sit here and wait it out.
It is warm here, and dry.
A resting place. A place for restless minds to settle.
Nothing special except the emptiness.
But that dear friend,
About this poem
It snowed all night. I went to my normal diner and it was close. I found another and I am watching the snow. I have work to do, but it is not pressing. A time to let the world alone for a while. Neither good or bad. Simply here. Strangely empty. Strangely happy.