Alive

There is the seat in the dark corner of the cafe. Smoke billows from somewhere. A mandolin player lightly strokes the strings of the wooden instrument in his hands, absentmindedly, the way an artist doodles or a writer collects those small snippets of words in a black leather journal.

Here, the colors are brighter, the days seem longer, the light slips and slides around corners, lighting up the dust in its intricate dance. You can feel it all. Every heart breaking, every spark of joy and laughter, every longing, every desire. They seem to all get caught in the wind and spiral in the front door.

This is vibrantly alive. This place where Creativity is muse and goddess, where Art is worshipped. And it’s not just the writers or photographers or musicians that are enraptured: every man, woman and child lives their lives as if they were painters creating a masterpiece. Materials are chosen carefully, lines and textures are taken into consideration, colors are blended and colors stand alone.

In the end, you can’t help but see how the soul has spilled onto the canvas.

{photograph by Allan Rostron}