Warm floorboards drenched by midday sun,
swept clean,
the tidy broom in the corner
Yellow is the room -
the walls, the glow, the aura
There stands a bare table, aged
and worn smooth
with a sensible chair to keep it company in its elder years
I shall place my typewriter there
I shall click and clack and breathe in ink and electrical warmth
Stories will flow,
characters will fill the room;
heartbreak and heartache will be the tune
as main and minor characters will dance to a healing finale
This room, my soul, will protect them and nurture their transformation
Amen
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