If we were having coffee, I would probably be having tea. I would share this sunny patio spot with you, an overflowing bowl of toothsome, sweet White Lady peaches between us. I wouldn’t be very gregarious this morning, because I’ve been a little low. We would be sitting across from each other, enjoying each other’s presence, but our chairs would be angled slightly, releasing the tension from our open circle. I hope you would be happy to simply lean back and close your eyes, savoring the invigorating dance of the sun on your skin after so much rain. I heard there are more storms on the way.

If our silent reverence slipped into conversation, I would ask you how you’ve been. I would tell you that I’m feeling a little empty and tired. The fall semester is fast-approaching, and weeks of anticipation have exhausted my emotions–both positive and negative. I can’t summon any enthusiasm to respond to what’s going on around me. I’m reading loads of books, but I can’t find the one that will shake me into feeling something extraordinary. I want to read a book that’s so real and evocative that it hurts. That’s the remedy I long for.

Maybe we’d spend an hour talking about books, the ones that really hit home. I would tell you that sometimes I feel like Holden Caulfield, trying to make my way in a world that I don’t fully understand. You might identify with a character in a book that I’ve never read. I would feed on your enthusiasm. I would buy that book and read it today. I would learn more about you by reading that book than I could over hundreds of cups of coffee.

Maybe we would meet again next week to lift each other’s spirits. Would you like that?