She got home from another long, productive and inspiring day feeling hungry, exhausted and wishing she could just go to sleep. Because she's human, however, her off switch is faulty. Instead of going straight to bed she does laundry, and forces her fatigued body to descend and ascend a large stairwell in a hustle-like fashion because when she's really on a roll, she's especially stubborn if not entirely focused. Finally, with dinner cooking on her stove and the promise of a hot shower beckoning her to melt away, she decides to sit quietly with an innate friend... but which one? She neither wants to talk nor listen. She wants the kind who can just sit and be- less fuss, more organic- quiet and calm. Wine is so comforting it seems like a natural choice to calm her senses. It's reassuring to her as well as sophisticated and seductive. Whiskey, though, is another delight and slowly pouring it over ice sometimes feels like smiling at an old friend from across the room. It's in that moment when the ice breaks, without a word, they know neither must rush. Their way will be made through the crowd and its crowded conversations to come full circle, again, with clarity and grace- without missing a beat. Whiskey and wine aren't actually people, however, and she hasn't a sea, or, otherwise, to navigate in her humble floating abode. She grins because she can do exactly as she wishes. She smiles because she knows she's earned it. Being a bit unorthodox, it doesn't come as a surprise when she realizes what she really wants is, still, everything- now, bold whiskey ribbons refracting in a delicate wine glass, dancing. Her smile broadens; she pours a beauty without a qualm. Looking out at the river all bathing in reflected light and the containers of people shipping themselves across the bridges, through the water, slipping and dripping onto the streets- into their days- she's thankful and beginning to unwind, which makes her even more thankful. Whiskey's in a wine glass; everything's just fine.
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