Front Porch Rambles

Artist! Writer! Practice your skills. Read something, pen something, sketch something still. Swiftly unraveled,  Long work to re-bind, The tenuous strands 'tween thumb, fingers and mind. Let not the dreams slip, Through unclenching hands. Guide them, direct them. Make patterns of sand. Pay no mind to mistakes, They belong, let them be. They're trees in the forest you're trying to see. Make ready your keyboard, Sketch paper and ink, You're readier now than you may ever think.

It was late.  The sky blue quilt that lay kicked and crumpled at the foot of the bed glowed in the dim blue light from the digital numbers. 12:59.  Depending on the accuracy of the clock's atomic guarantee, it may or may not be Monday in the next time zone.  It certainly was, here. He counted back the hours from his wife's early departure for work. Five and a half hours still remained before diapers would need changing or eggs scrambling. To most this would be a regrettably late bedtime, but he knew he could easily spend the next 90 minutes tapping away at the keyboard. Or, admittedly, staring into space for indeterminate lengths of time as his mind scribbled and erased madly.  The words had been coming easily but what did he have to show but some autobiographical musings and thinly guised Star Trek fan fiction?  Was he getting anywhere? Where was he even going? So far, he'd let inspiration take the wheel, ignoring the terror of the blank white page for long e...