My Quill Hath Run Dry

I am currently sitting outside in a garden straight out of your most whimsical dreams, where fairies drink their morning nectar, and birds sing freely without a care in the world.

An upstate escape so nature rich, I found my words ready to resurface after a month long hiatus.

I haven’t even been journaling.

The very words that fuel my life force, the very words I describe as flowing out of me, decided as of now, they’re finally ready to return, like a bee to a flower, or a tiny white spider to my water bottle.

I find myself luxuriating in the return to the illustrious flow state, where I can exist as a messenger, a downloader of words, more so than the originator.

This illusive state found me in the most unlikely of locations, submersed in nature, where technology gets hot to the touch, and there are so many places to sit, you could spend time in all of them forever and still feel like it’s somehow not enough, but the good kind of not enough, rooted in abundance and just wanting to get the chance to experience it all.

“Ok, fine, I’ll move” she says to the spider. But can you get off my water bottle?