Dry January

Hôtel du cloître, Arles, France.

Dry January

Alone, I write from my bedroom cum study, face-to-face with a windowless wall – a window for what ? Nothing inspiring out there, not the snowflakes nor the birds. And seeing people keep their distance from each other makes me want to drink more than write. January is awfully dry this year ; I’d like to swim with a mermaid, drink champagne and read poems. Dry January, nice title for a poem. And an awesome name for a cocktail. Champagne, gin, orange zest ? Inspiration has no patience; I put down my pen and begin the research.