Bring for the chariot of thought, strapped to the twin beasts of vision and dreams. I stand, whip in hand to crack at the dawn, race forth! May dreams rush in and out like bats across a twilight night. A deep breath. A swallow. Fingers twitch at keys hoping to unlock answers before the questions have revealed themselves. I often wonder at the arrive of inspiration in its many guises, often thundering in with anger, of clawing out with sadness, or bursting all around with excited enthusiasm and passion, sometimes a bolt of purpose. You have drifted in like a fog but with a warmth of sunset, a quiet brought around by the softness of invisible droplets of water but not cool like dew but relaxed at the end of a day, weary but content, but looking at tomorrow. A sigh. I am thirsty and I wonder if you are born of that. A physical manifestation of some desire I’m not aware of. Could you be something that starts something? Or are you the end of something, a moment or particular feeling? Maybe…
Sometimes I sell you short in my mind you know. Maybe I sell each of you short. I am a man of many shades, and I owe so much of my paint and lighting to you all. For all the times I told you or implied that you weren’t good enough, or any time that you simply felt it anyway; you got me this far. That’s good enough. I hope I can do the same.
