On being a nomad part 1

It starts with a tiny drop of a thought. We brushed our hand accidentally across the old plastic globe in the hotel lobby.

We smelt saffron, and tasted it in a recipe we made.

We heard a poem, a story, saw a photograph,

And then.

We tossed and turned, scheming and scheming. Our hair got tangled from moving our bodies from one side of the other.

We saw the time.