Sugar Nymphs

Writing at the
Sugar Nymphs Bistro
Penasco, New Mexico

I climb into the back seat of Sarah’s car, buckle myself in between Edda and Eliza and we take off. After a rainy drive winding through the mountains we arrive at a low adobe building with a blinking sign out front. “Sugar Nymphs Bistro” draws us in. This is what I think of when I think of being a writer in a cafe. Soft guitar music plays as we enter. The sound of a child giggling at the next table is so quiet it does not disturb, just creates a sound track of comfort.

We are welcomed in by the blue winged angel on the counter, arms outstretched. A wooden rooster sits on top of the espresso machine and photographs by a local artist adorn the walls. Cakes on pedestals sit on a red counter next to a pumpkin pie and a tray of chocolate chip cookies the size of CDs. Dessert and drink choices are written in pink and green chalk on two blackboards on the wall. Green and pink steam floats above a chalk coffee cup.

I am surrounded by writers intent on their craft. Heads bowed, hands moving across the pages of their notebooks. The waitress delivers hot chocolate topped with thick whipped cream. Edda looks up from the page and with a spoon, skims off the white, coolness and slides it into her mouth. I look down at my triple layered carrot cake with the cream cheese frosting and decide to eat the whole thing. No one gets fat at the heaven cafe. Nathanael sips his hot chocolate and is deep in thought with far away eyes.

I am floating on a cafe cloud suspended in the air. Does this place really exist? Will I come searching another time to find a pile of tires and a stray dog?
Tomorrow I will leave this colony of writers and drive down the mountain and fly home to sea level. To the land of ordinary coffee shops selling pastries wrapped in cellophane. There will be no bistro on a mountain filled with writers I have come to know without having to say a word.

The bistro will be gone but the writing will continue. We are together in heaven’s cafe writing for eternity and we didn’t have to die to get here. Just breathe deeply, pick up a fast moving pen and write like your life depends on it. Because it does.



dedicated to Natalie Goldberg who drew us together from all directions and to my fellow writing students. thank you.