By Tony DeLorger © 2011
I sit behind my desk; my mind entrenched in dreams, words flowing from my pen like a summer breeze. Spirits of nature hide in nooks and crannies, watching me, giggling and enjoying my connection to the stream. Their angel like bodies occasionally rise into the air, their radiating light momentarily catching my attention, at which point they retreat into the shadows. I smile, knowing their game and continue to write.
They follow me inside knowing my work, attracted to the stream of creativity they can recognise. It glows like the soft luminous moon on a clear night, and flows in swirls and rivulets that dance in the darkness and entreat these nymphs to playful delight. Intermittently they fly up and ride the stream like a slippery dip, their wings tucked by their sides sliding with increasing speed until at my desk they spread their wings and glide down to find the safety of shadows.
Their presence has opened the stream even more and I feel the weight of it on my shoulders, my mind relentlessly trying to keep up with my racing thoughts. Words find their place at lightning speed, each melding to the next in a cascade of phrases and expression. The more I write, the more these creatures excite until their joyous laughter is audible and their shyness subsides.
They are now dancing in front of me, their tiny faces glowing with happiness, their tiny feet a blur. Soft glowing forms join in a swirling mass of light before me, at times across the bottom of my computer screen. But my writing continues unabated, driven to forge ahead to complete this avalanche of creative expression. I hear their slight voices imparting thoughts like messages, whispers of ideas that turn quickly to blooms.
I can’t stop smiling, their being is so alluring, their laughter infectious. They are singular beings but together in a way that we do not understand. Their life is unique with a common purpose that draws them closely to one another. Their thoughts are deeply connected and they move in perfect harmony with a loving intent and a kind manner. They do not understand all my words, but they can see my intention in detail. As I write they see how it completes itself and the meanings give them pleasure, their swells of vocal approval heard above tapping keys.
When the piece is finished the stream subsides and my little helpers recede into the shadows and then disappear. Outside, through the window, I see them return to their garden home, still dancing and elated. I look back at the screen and read my work. I smile, knowing how it came to be and appreciate being connected to life in this way. The words are of beauty and like the nymphs related to one another in an individual way. I am blessed.
Resting in my chair, my thoughts drift into the realm of possibility and I again open myself to life, the stream at my beckoned call, always.