She entered the café without a thought dragging in her mind. The day was quaint and drizzly, just as the town she was surrounded by. Soon she would be on another bus to another somewhere for just a night. Was this her life now: inns and outs with no real roots? She picked at the scrambled eggs on her plate - scrambled indeed.
On the wall hung a painting of Hansel and Gretel at the point where they find the illustrious gingerbread house. All seems hopeful once again as their hunger subsides and their appetites are filled. She too desired clear sugar window panes, some reason to see the world more sweetly. But the café just banged and whirred with business. People sipped their coffee and time ticked forward.
She was on a journey, not knowing where she was headed, not even understanding what was unfolding before her eyes. She was just trusting her intuition to move her forward. The music soothed her and outside the rain came down at a slant.
I've been rereading my travel journal from Europe in 1999 and found this entry from Cork, Ireland. I recognize my writing voice in it and wanted to celebrate the moment.