You gotta start somewhere...

Ok, so how does one start a blog? I guess you just write something and see where it goes. Well, here goes nothing.

Building a Memory

It seemed like only yesterday,
Not a particularly memorable day -
A cold Chicago winter's Saturday morning.
Grey, light flurries, biting breeze.
Salty sludge cast upon the sidewalks.
People bundled in drab, unremarkable layers
Hunkered over and shuffling
Like children beaten once too often,
Remembering a cruel father,
Afraid to face the another blow,
Trying to catch the steam in cupped hands
That refuses to remain trapped behind pursed and chapping lips,
Hurrying into and out of the White Hen Pantry -
That dingy orange sign
Perched at the busy street corner,
Clucking contentedly at her chicks
As they scurry about after 36 oz cups
Of what some people call coffee.
Maybe a cinnamon bun in plastic wrap,
Maybe a pack of smokes,
Trading smoke for steam
And then on they go again,
Back out into the cold,
Going to who knows where.

Why this memory, this time?
So many times I traveled by -
Different days, different seasons.
How did this one rate a memory
When so many more important memories
Are lost?
The only clue,
The only speck of a crumb
Left by my wandering mind
To find the way back,
Is the how I feel
When I'm there again
In my mind:
Not cold, not beaten,
Not drab, not grey
Not left with a bad taste
From coffee sitting on a burner too long.
I feel "friend"
Down the street, to the left
Over the bridge and two houses on the right.
My friends, waiting there
For some adventure that day.
I smile even now
And wonder,
How did my mind learn
To build memories this way?