It's early spring. The sun's got some heat to it, but when the wind blows it bites and sitting in the shade makes me shiver. It's nice weather for a sweater. When the sun goes down I remember it was just winter though and my bones go cold and shake.
It's rattling and in the bustle something shook loose like a peach from a tree and presented itself. An answer to a question. Something that's stumped me. Why writing?
It's hard to describe the sensation of revelation because I think each one in itself is significant and unique in every different way. So much more then a lightbulb switching on. To me, it's more like a Rubix cube finishing itself. Everything suddenly knows where to go and in the end the colors are all solid and everything's clear.
