Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

“I read the brochure for the workshop,” she said, trying to look only partly interested.

“Ah, good,” I replied. It’s a long-practiced routine between us, this mutual act of mind-fishing.

She sipped her coffee, waiting for my silence to break . . . Nothing . . .

” . . . And I don’t understand the significance of that funny circle thingy,” she said, irritated that her half hour in the coffee shop was being eaten up by my exasperating ways.

“The ennea-thingy?” I asked, all innocence.

“Yes, dammit, the ennea-thingy!” she whooshed–yes whooshed.

“Would you like me to explain it?” I asked her; then added, looking slyly at my watch, “Well, as much of it as we can fit into the remaining fifteen minutes?”

“Yes . . .” The tone was flat, for fear of losing more time. “I’d like that.”

“From one very interesting perspective, it’s…