Something old and ancient stirs when staring into a fire, even if it is made from modern-day charcoal briquettes. Perhaps it is my ancestors looking though my eyes, speaking from within. I wonder how many times molecules within me have come this close to the open flame; some say that is how they were ultimately born.
Beyond this backyard barbecue, spiderwebs extend from the oak trees to the grass below, dancing back and forth in the breeze. I only notice them because of the shafts of sunlight they pretend to hold captive. I wonder what happened to the spider that spun such a web? I imagine it has long since moved on, unlike the coyote that has taken to marking a boundary down the center of the driveway on a nightly basis.
Doves have gathered in the trees this morning, cooing to a rhythm that I cannot exactly identify. The sound flows more like an unfettered woodwind than that of a drum, completely unlike the cicadas, grasshoppers, and crickets, or the pump jack for that matter. In the sounds all around me I sense the inspiration for another music collection brewing. Perhaps its time to close out the New Dimensions music collection and move forward with the next project.
Work on The Journey of Samson Pyne continues in the morning hours, as does research for the sequel to Misunderstood. I have yet to find my own rhythm to writing, even several years into this profession. Trying to blend nature into writing is less about schedules and more about reaction to environmental conditions rooted in sunlight, darkness, and weather. Due to my design I am not as limited as other products of life, but I am still affected by the conditions I live within.