Melbourne: winter tries to maintain its grip but spring arm wrestles it successfully to the tabletop. I sit at one such table on the banks of the Yarra River, soaking up a promise of more sunshine, watching and listening as a parade of locals and tourists fills the air with words and laughter; the sound a chorus to the verse of the city. I savor the taste of conversations; a morsel of a phrase, a word without a context, a line without its punch. Behind each, there’s a smorgasbord of story questions; enough to sate my notebook and fountain pen. Words emerge, thawing after winter’s heavy silence. Bliss.