It Can't wait
Usually you think you have to wait for the perfect sentence or the perfect thought to start writing and you wait for it.
But no, there is no time to wait for the right moment, the right thing to say; if you wait… you loose, you loose the small part of time, the magical moment that with the breath of the wind brings the image of emotion, the image that does not stop, it flies and escapes carried by the wind, and you can’t stop writing, you can’t put some period while you write, as the period is an iron door which cuts out the fog, the fog stays outside, but in the fog there is the image of the dream, the breath of the colour….
everything is in that image wrapped in the fog that smells of humidity and rain, focus yourself upon that sole and unique image that is trying to go away, but at the same time it’s asking and begging for your attention,
because you, like the painter who with his hands overloaded of the rainbow colours puts in a painting the rising sun going up to the sky enlightening the shining and full fields, rich of ears of wheat ready to be harvested, spotted with the red of poppies, like the painter who is able to make flow from the point of his fingers the light of the moon that is twinkling over the water of the lake, there where Fairies are bowing to the stars and they leave their bodies to be dressed by the rays of light of dreams;
It’s begging your attention because you are like the musician who has his hands quivering because he feels the earth vibrating from the deepest and he feels it climbing to him and making his fingers moving on the chords of the harp, flying on the keys of the piano, brushing the guitar, it’s craving your attention that image which cannot stop and has to slide away in the wind among the waves of the sea, carried by the song of the dolphins that hovers high in the sky reaching the wings of the eagles; that image is asking for your attention your concentration till you, together with the painter and the musician could see it, for a while enough to transform it words, words that with the sound of your voice will become a story, the story of a smile, and here it is, pale blurry in the fog with the smell sea salt, the music keeps it for a while, colours of the rainbow all around it and you see her, sweet vision in that moment, a woman dressed in yellow veils, shining as the sun, in her hands a silver and pearl sceptre, a single diamond tear on her face, and a sweet warm powerful and sensual smile, and there the story began….
But no, there is no time to wait for the right moment, the right thing to say; if you wait… you loose, you loose the small part of time, the magical moment that with the breath of the wind brings the image of emotion, the image that does not stop, it flies and escapes carried by the wind, and you can’t stop writing, you can’t put some period while you write, as the period is an iron door which cuts out the fog, the fog stays outside, but in the fog there is the image of the dream, the breath of the colour….
everything is in that image wrapped in the fog that smells of humidity and rain, focus yourself upon that sole and unique image that is trying to go away, but at the same time it’s asking and begging for your attention,
because you, like the painter who with his hands overloaded of the rainbow colours puts in a painting the rising sun going up to the sky enlightening the shining and full fields, rich of ears of wheat ready to be harvested, spotted with the red of poppies, like the painter who is able to make flow from the point of his fingers the light of the moon that is twinkling over the water of the lake, there where Fairies are bowing to the stars and they leave their bodies to be dressed by the rays of light of dreams;
It’s begging your attention because you are like the musician who has his hands quivering because he feels the earth vibrating from the deepest and he feels it climbing to him and making his fingers moving on the chords of the harp, flying on the keys of the piano, brushing the guitar, it’s craving your attention that image which cannot stop and has to slide away in the wind among the waves of the sea, carried by the song of the dolphins that hovers high in the sky reaching the wings of the eagles; that image is asking for your attention your concentration till you, together with the painter and the musician could see it, for a while enough to transform it words, words that with the sound of your voice will become a story, the story of a smile, and here it is, pale blurry in the fog with the smell sea salt, the music keeps it for a while, colours of the rainbow all around it and you see her, sweet vision in that moment, a woman dressed in yellow veils, shining as the sun, in her hands a silver and pearl sceptre, a single diamond tear on her face, and a sweet warm powerful and sensual smile, and there the story began….
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