Perfection?

2784e178ab2a40e9c635568ff222a531In a perfect world

I would slip out of bed unnoticed by my family.  The coffee maker would already be brewing and I would hear it percolating as I am walking down the hallway.  As I slip onto my balcony overlooking the beautiful bed of water that I live by, I notice the birds chirping – already awake and beckoning me to join them in creativity.    I become aware of the gentle smoke of fog rolling across the waters’ edge as it hides the mountains from my view.   My laptop is already there with the cursor blinking at me, and as I sit down to type, my soul and fingers seem to work in tandem.  The creativity flows from deep within me.  I feel the same as I do when I’m playing music on my piano with my eyes closed, the point where nothing exists beyond myself and my music.

In the real world

In reality, I’m scattered and may forget to set the coffee maker to work ahead of time, so I will be sleepily making the coffee while trying to be quiet so as not to wake up the three teenage girls.   When the coffee is brewing, the dog will jingle his way down the hallway and spin in circles until I let him out, while my beautiful kitty will be at my feet EXPECTING to be loved on.  There will be no body of water or mountains outside my balcony because I live in Kansas.   And the honest truth is that the minute I sit down to write, I will hear something else percolating.  It will be the sounds of two or more of my teenage girls squabbling over a hairbrush or any other myriad of items they may be trying to gain possession of upon waking from their slumber.   The day will start.

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And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

William Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream

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