Inspiration flows in, in wide and meandering ways.
It flows from deep inside of your existence.
From right outside of your window.
From friends, family, and faults.
It flows from history. From bone. From dreams.
It grows inside of your soul.
It roots from what you know.
and blooms from that which you question.
It is fed by misconception.
By realization. By sight and by sound.
It's a fire. It burns.
Some days it lays still in long grass.
Other days it blows by, racing your mind like the wind. Pulling you in. Holding you deep in its thread. Giving.
It's wrapped in your happiness and cloaked in your sadness.
And when it shows itself in you... You translate it.
You create something from it.
Your hands give it to the world.
And it's every piece of you.
You are here.