Sometimes the hardest thing is beginning a thing. The first word. The blank page. I have to remind myself always to stop and listen. The story is out there. I only have to follow it.
Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind’s cage door,
She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar.