Sometimes I pull over on the side of the road eleven times per day
Driving past a line of trees at sunset, the way light floods in through the peaks and corners of leaves, dancing along the spaces between branches and shadows
Just to stop and take a picture of the droplets of water on blades of grass. To capture the way the sun shines and makes millions of rainbows sparkling across someone’s lawn
The subconscious whisper that lifts my eyes up to the sky at just the right moment, in time to see a flock of white birds flying overhead. The perfect and eternally synchronistic magic that exists within and all around me.
Sometimes I sit in front of the ocean and write.
I close my eyes and let the pen glide across the lines of notebook paper to see what comes out. Like the memory of when I saw fireworks for the first time, or the way the waves sound against the rocks and how it reminds me of deep breathing, or the way it feels when someone looks at you the same way you look at them. I write until my brain has nothing left but the blank picture of the stillness in my mind.
And sometimes I go weeks without stopping on the sides of the road, I forget where I put my notebook or that my head is all filled up with words again waiting to get out.
I haven’t written in a while, and this is what spilled out from the lines of my thoughts
The manifestation of clouds into rain, a soul ascended into tangible and legible form