9 months ago

Book 1 Website Chapters 1-2

Standing before my

Standing before my nemesis, I sigh and scan, A3, B4, C6 or D3. My lips pinched by defeat, the quarter hangs at the slot. But the psychic needle drops. The drums obliterate conformity while the guitar forces a new path. I look to the clock, to the hallway; my chest rises ‘on we sweep, with threshing ore.’ I. Am. Eating. Warm. Food! Leaning, I peep out the break room then dash down the vacant hall, my chest struggling to contain the armies of frogs gulping their Juan Valdez. Wiping my palms, the down button winces under my unrelenting index finger, desperate to escape the illusive Productivity Police threatening to discover my transgression. Flattened into the corner of the elevator, I straighten my smile to halt the Ginger Rogers spin that threatens. The doors ping open, I step out as others crowd in. Life outside the glass walls now lit by the morning sun, my western shore is moments away. I race to the door. “On your way out, Kathryn?” Bob calls out, tearing the film reel of my day. “Um, just, just getting breakfast,” my voice quivers. “I’ll be back in five minutes, maybe less.” He nods his smile; I force mine back. Fred Astaire holds the door as I swoosh my entrance onto Ohio Street. Struggling with the weight of the door to the crowded café, the bell hurls a chaotic shockwave riveting from my ears to my feet. A cacophony of joy fills the café. Face tucked, I spy on others ignorant of my plight for change. Bravely, I release the door and breathe in the Creative Gift of a nation, France and the dreamlike warmth of yeast lightened by the spirited tang of fresh juices, freshly The Rules of Life by Melissa Abbott-Cooke. Contact: 615-669-5643 16

aked apples and berries. Angst and elation curdle at my core. I stand in line, arms wrapped, sweated hands clenching my sweater, 1 inhale, 2 exhale ... I glance to the clock, then the pastry case to the right, the hive of women clustered around a man in an impeccable Glen Check plaid grey suit. Their eyes afloat with his allure; European tailoring on a beekeeper. Issuing a psychic apology, I focus ahead. But I’m immediately pushed back, captivated. My chin inches forward, transported onto timeworn cobbled streets, the hum and tannic air machinery, oil mixed with cuts of fresh linen and hearty wool, the treasured shop of an atelier. An artist works, consumed by his passion, absorbed in and by Creativity. Tools of his Gift, silken threads and bolts of exquisite fabrics, line his walls. Enchanted, I focus on the meticulously woven cloth, the restrained luster and precision cuts seamed together, unforgiving expertise in a navy suit falling perfectly down a tall, lean athletic form. There is no box-like padding or billows to imply something other than what is truly underneath. The cuts of the collar mimic, light chestnut hues in his hair form a perfect complement to the navy. Masterful. A Creative Gift manifested, a Renaissance portrait in a gallery of mediocrity. Teased closer, light floral and deep wooded notes, solid and warm, play, mutating to the music of Over the Hills and Far Away. But there are no words. Flirtatious laughter pings. Navy places his hands in his trouser pockets, shifts his stance. I look away. The beekeeper in grey turns from his hive. Vivid blue strokes in Van Gogh’s self-portrait dance in his eyes. Copper hues umber and roll to softly frame the The Rules of Life by Melissa Abbott-Cooke. Contact: 615-669-5643 17

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download a free pdf of chapters 1 & 2 from book 1 - The Golden Path