thefeministwriterwhogoesmeh

Music surrounds me and works its way into my heart. It is a huge part of my life, and I can do almost nothing without having listened to some casual jazz or blues, depending on my mood.

I’ll be starting a series in which I’ll describe what certain songs made me feel or think. The first song will be “Welcome to my World,” (no, not the one by Jim Reeves) some slow jazz.

The beep-beep was followed by the mechanical whirring of the coffee machine, and the subtle aroma of coffee wafted through the cold air. She looked through the stock of food in her refrigerator absentmindedly, and closed it with a sigh.

She picked her favorite mug out of the cabinet, and proceeded to watch the coffee to go from a full flow to a mere trickle into the glass carafe. Once it was full, she poured the steaming hot liquid into her mug. A spoon of sugar and some milk were added to the mug and stirred, contemplatively.

She picked up the mug and looked through her bookshelf for a book that wasn’t too thought provoking or boring. She found it. A not-so-worn copy of an Agatha Christie classic: Why didn’t they ask Evans? She lazily strolled to the veranda and sat in the easy chair. The soft pitter-patter of the rain played in the background as she quietly sipped her coffee and opened the book. She began to read.