The feel of the world that surrounds me is ever oppressive in its summer heat… the slow drowning of sticky, humid air. I can still feel what’s left of the pleasantness in the slow, soft breeze–balmy, lingering within the leaves as they’re rustled by its whisper.
I think of poetry, of prose, of a narrative told in an ancient tongue. I don’t quite know the story, but the visceral feel of emotions and the scant pictures painted within my mind are ever present, needing in some way to release themselves.
There are stories I have, stories to tell. I watch and observe all I see around me and I am not without modes of inspiration. I come upon magic in all there is in the world, some vehement and sour, while other experiences promise hope, joy, and love.
A chance meeting is something a writer can always hope for; with a pleasant stranger discussing the weather, with an animal along a wooded trail, and with the Spirits in the land. Inspiration is divine, and divinity is all around us. Learn to see from within, and watch the secret places of the earth.
Keep a look out for these chance meetings because even the smallest bit of knowledge can be gained, giving the proper inspiration for a story to unfold.