This is a tale about the journey of a thought. Yesterday, as I stood at my kitchen sink I looked out the windows as I’ve done every day for the past eight years. My view has changed some during that time. A trendy mocha paint replaced the sugar pink on the house next door, a new privacy fence replaced a dilapidated one, and my neighbors removed the diseased walnut tree from their back yard last spring. Now, from my window I can see three sky-scraping palm trees in a yard two streets north.
I’ve said hello to these trees for months now. I’ve watched them sway with the wind. I like the natural symmetry of three, and that from my perspective the middle one is the shortest and stands slightly closer to the tallest. But these trees never inspired my writer’s mind until yesterday.
As I waited for the water to run hot, I looked out the window and when the palms caught my eye, I heard a whisper, over there lies Marrakesh.
With that, the floodgates opened and my mind filled with sights and sounds and tastes: the crowds in the souk by day and the square by night; oranges, saffron, and mint; a plaintive wail—a call to prayer … a plea for help … a lover’s lament? I’m not quite sure, but I believe there’s a poem, a story, or even a novel coming forth.
Because in my soul lies Marrakesh.