Sometimes my words are empty. They come out with too much air in between and not enough mass. I’m losing detail. My inspiration is drying like rain on a summer day in Arizona. It evaporates before it even touches the ground.
I have taken a wrong turn somewhere and now I am lost down a darkening forest path. There is no light, the trail is thorny and muddled with debris. I can only escape through writing my way out. I stand till awaiting a sound, a whisper, any clue of direction. The trees stand silent, leaves tranquil, forbidden to answer my pleas. The animals retreat to the shadows, alas I must find inspiration in darkest corner and furthest reaches. So I sit where I have been stumped and write.
I let the words guide my pencil until they dry up like the rain. Then I know, the ideas will spring forth once again, and I will light my way from this tumultuous, winding path. Where I will emerge into the pages of a story dripping with freshly spun yarns.
picture courtesy of deviantArt