rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

There is something about a blank page that conveys its nature directly to my mind. Blankness begets blankness. Wandering about the house, going for a walk, reading a newspaper, listening to music, ideas are constantly popping into my head. I sit down with a notebook or in front of the computer screen- nothing. I can't even remember what I was thinking five minutes ago. Something about the way the light was falling through the pine trees, trees and light making each other solid by their interaction, trees taking on light, light taking form of trees. Somehow, it seemed very important. Somehow, words fail to reveal the shape of the moment.
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