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I sit, then watch, listen, and smell the seclusion.
It’s not but two hundred yards from my house,
And my senses are overflowing from the silence.
At first impulse I want to say,
“There is nothing here for inspiration.
No ears, roads, people, or any other thing I know to be normal.”
Then I stop. A realization takes place.
Inspiration does not come from the norm, but from the absence of such.
We must look out, above and beyond what we see.
To be tried, tested, and true.
In front of me is a stream, plain and simple.
No. It is a pinnacle of success. No obstacle in its way deafens its parade.
It sounds its constant trump, voicing its miraculous discoveries.
It holds true to truth, though windy the road may be.
I sit, then watch, listen, and smell again.
Then, as I leave, I say aloud,
“There is nothing here but inspiration.”
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