Recently, I had the gift of a few hours outside of Weaver Street Market in Carrboro.
I drank rich coffee as the preschool crowd exchanged places with the afterschool group. Flocks of toddlers burbling to tunes heard in their own heads became teenagers jamming out to music over their phones.
The college students are back and were discussing poetry, including Ross Gay — who is indeed a delight.
One mom played checkers with her son. The child tripled-jumped her and pumped his tiny fists in the air!
Somebody else turned cartwheels on the sidewalk. An elder slowly picked his way with the help of a cane. A young person offered to carry his groceries. Carrottops peeked out approvingly from the reusable bag.
Plenty of people clicked and clacked on their laptops, perhaps emailing. Maybe a few were writing poetry or even a novel.
Periodically, the creaking city bus rolled past.
A song sparrow hopped among the tables in search of tidbits, giving the two napping dogs a wide berth. Across the way, an orange-tabby cat on a leash perched on a tabletop and followed the bird’s every flutter.
A couple shared a handsome bottle of wine and stared into each other’s eyes. A guy poured a beer into a glass and took a savoring sip.
Weaver Street is a co-op. Every week owners enjoy a free item. This particular day was a special for a chocolate bar. I picked up mine and left it on the table. But the chocolate melted in the pleasant hours of people watching, so I went inside to stick it into the freezer behind the soy-chicken nuggets.
Returning to my table to wait for the chocolate to refreeze, I did a little emailing and scratched out the beginnings of a poem on the back of my receipt.
I watched an older employee with a beautiful smile clean behind customers, wiping down tables and chairs. When he passed, I thanked him and he gave me a big thumbs up. He offered to take my water glass, but I told him I would go and get some more.
I closed my eyes and turned my face up to the sun, listening to snatches of conversation, bubbling laughter from dazzling children, the crunch of fresh apples, and the scrape of chairs as customers came and went.
I went inside to retrieve my candy bar, leaving behind the rest of my stuff. I trust my fellow customers. When I returned to collect my belongings, a full glass of ice water waited for me. I caught the eyes of that employee who flashed me another a thumbs up, which was a poem in and of itself.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the author of “Little Big Moments,” a collection of mini-essays about parenting, and “Tigers, Mice & Strawberries: Poems.” Both titles are available most anywhere books are sold online. Taylor-Troutman lives in Chapel Hill where he serves as pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church and occasionally stumbles upon the wondrous while in search of his next cup of coffee.
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