Sometimes a wind flows out of the void. Soft tendrils of feathery thought warm the back of the mind. Whispers of creation surge up from nowhere. Rest back upon a billowing wave, letting the seasweep greencalm cleanse your neural circuits, washing out the webs of memory. Mild spring breezes play across your back, weaving harmonies of past and future into the golden tapestry of the present, new and always. Sitting before dawn in a darkened room, then going out among the shadowless peals of orange and rose that hang about the corners of the sky. Working quietly in the first images of the light. Drinking in the sweet essence of a newborn day.
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