“Your feelings really shine through when you’re sleeping,” is what I think I just heard a woman say. I’m not sure whom she was talking to. I’m sitting in a big comfy, if ugly and worn, chair in a bookstore. Someone has pulled it up to the window and I sit, my large coffee perched on the windowsill. Out the window I have a view of a parking lot full of cars and people heading into stores to do a little holiday shopping. A big wreath and little lights decorate the plaza. I wonder if my chair will be in the way of fellow bookstore shoppers. I look behind me to the nearest shelves, which are labeled Engineering and Mathematics. I feel like this might not be the busiest section unless you’re looking for The Art of Welding or Linear Algebra for Dummies. I kick off my shoes and tuck my feet up under me. Quiet music is playing in the background and I make myself at home. Now time to write. What should I write about? I will these books to share their author’s creativity with me. I wonder how many words sit on all of these shelves. And are they trapped in their book until someone opens it and begins to read. I picture people in the store opening a book and a swirl of words floating out to make the air fill like a freak snowstorm. But instead of flakes–the, and, cathedral, ubiquitous, serenity, freakish, beyond, catnip, lost, grand, understood, rare, shine, develop, braise, forest– words fly free.