The kindness of a stranger

You sat about 6-ft away from me

in the cafe;

you were busy scribbling some words

on a piece of paper

and you had your laptop in front of you,

almost hugging you.

We said hello and exchanged

mutual pleasantries.

You then told me about your kids,

one of them a recently-wed woman in Berkeley

with her plants and two labradors.

I felt slightly in awe

to be talking with someone who is

a master and connoisseur of their words

and about how the Universe brought us together

in one fortuitous encounter

one afternoon.

We talked about Kenneth Fields -

his bouts with alcohol,

yet his gift and penchant for words -

Oh! William Carlos Williams!

Oh! The Red Wheelbarrow!

That was the day before my 37th birthday.

As I drove home

from the cafe that day,

I was filled with the ebb and flow of your words and

tried to connect your poems

to my surroundings -

how the moon gently kissed the horizon,

how it slightly rested on the ocean

as it reposed for the night

That was the beginning of a stirring

of something in me

the lighting of an amber,

an inkling to write

and to meet my mind

on these beautiful, beckoning pages.