Copper-Blossom

            The sound of a smooth jazz infiltrated the dimly lit café. The sensual saxophone drawled on lazily matching the mood of its audience. Sitting on a table by her lonesome, Nieve curled up leaning to the wall, a notebook on the table and pen in hand. Her writing barely made a sound as the pen glided across the page. Every once in a while, the young woman stopped and picked up the open book at her side. Flipping pages back and forth with light perusal, she looked for what she needed. When found she began to write once again; even stopping to pick up a highlighter to mark some