Zombies in coffee shops.

I am participating in a traveling sketchbook.  It will reach me sometime in March and I will have two weeks to decorate some pages with writing and art.  I've been practicing, testing colors.

Yes, testing colors...that's what we shall call the scratchings of lazy Saturdays...(these are from three weeks ago).

And tonight I think I finished the poem that will go with it.  I say "I think," because tomorrow I will decide it needs to be changed.  I'll move a word, add a phrase, fill in the rhythm.  I'm not an illustrator, but I want this poem to be accompanied by color.  I'm thinking a collage of various patterns with the words set between them.  Thus the watercolor DIY.

And today's work...slowly getting the hang of it.

Today was cold, but once it warms up I will be taking a chair and a book to my favorite sandy spot where I can hear the waves and smell the ocean.  In college I loved going to the ocean at night.  My friend and I would sit and talk.  Sometimes we would sing.  She was training for the opera.  Our voices blended together, and at night, with the wind taking the melody almost as soon as we sang it, there was no pressure to perform.  Those were magic days.

This is a beach in Oregon, during the day, which is the opposite of the beach I was speaking of above.

I'm writing this in a coffee shop.  The man behind me is coughing repeatedly.  Like he's choking.  Now he's sneezing...and clearing his throat.  I'm pretty sure he's patient zero.  His presence has layered my reminiscing (blither) about music, art, and poems with an element of danger.  I should try taking a picture of him, like a clandestine reporter, to document the disease transmission with my GPS coordinates.

Just turned around.  The coughing man is staring straight ahead, unmoving.  He's unnaturally tan and his urine-colored, straw-like hair appears glued to his head.  He's sniffling.  The snot he's ingesting sounds thick and infectious.  My son thinks he's a zombie.  I'm pretty sure he's right.

I've never seen a zombie before, and I wouldn't have imagined meeting my first in a suburban coffee shop.  I wonder what drink he ordered.  I'm thinking a passion tea lemonade - because it's the color of blood and lemon is a preservative.

I should probably go now.