Shards and Feathers

Chasing Thoughts

My mind was empty. I stared at the blank paper with my heart beating quickly. My pen was ready, but no thoughts had begun. No stirring, meaningful words came into my head. My body tensed as I waited. I looked out the window at the smeared yellow fields and felt as if I would never write another word.

I must write something. People tell me when I am blocked to write anything that comes into my head, that anything will do. But there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. No words, no images, no thoughts.

The wind stirred the leaves of the cherry tree right beside my window, and the breeze entered to cool my neck. A few leaves scattered inside and fell onto the floor, separated. The sky darkened as I closed my eyes.

The moon shone brightly upon the golden wheat, the wind causing the light to dance upon the fields. A music stole the night in a whirlwind battle. The animals stalked through the hills, the balance of life holding still, then quavering, falling. Scattered.

A leaf caught the breeze, flying as it had always wished it could. Here it is, at the end of its short life, finally free to fly. It soared high, dancing in the wind, before drifting softly to the ground. In it's last moments, if felt comfort beneath it as if finally reached the earth. It had lived, left, soared, and fallen. And now it would die.

I opened my eyes and saw the sun rising through my open window. I rubbed my cold arms and sat up, looking around. My paper still waited in front of me, my pen next to it. I paused, and smiled.

I took the pen, turned on the lamp, sat forward, and began to write. First one word then the next. Then I was writing whole sentences, paragraphs, chapters, lifetimes, worlds. The pen would not write fast enough. I ran with it across the page, but I was afraid I could not run fast enough to escape. My thoughts were chasing me.

And it was glorious.