Smoke skies and moonshine

Posted by Dale Wilsey Jr. | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Thursday, April 26, 2012

The jack-hammering tones of an air gun rattle through the shop just outside my office. Buddy Guy's licks flow from my computer speakers like a fine scotch. I've got a truckload of thoughts rolling down endless expanses of highway carved through my mind. Outside, it's a chilly, wet April day. Smoke-colored skies.

This morning, I woke up and sat down in front of the typer for the first time in what seems like years. The early hours, following what little sleep I seem to find these days, have become a window of inspiration. Words drip onto the page mimicking the coffee pot steaming in the kitchen. Eventually, the page and my cup are full.

I spend a brief time on our second-floor balcony most mornings. Every time I open the door to step out, I'm reminded of the need of a good chair to lounge in and soak up the morning sun while I let my thoughts pour out.

The itch. The need to write has embedded itself within me again. It's not that I was worried about losing it. It seems as though any writer finds themselves less than inspired from time to time. Or maybe we let our thoughts brew like moonshine through a still until they're pure. Whatever the case, the cask is full again.

Soon, I'll spend time wandering through the park in the fading light of dusk. These late-night work hours are coming to an end. I've got more important things to have running through my mind than the constant rattles and blasts of air tools and belching engine brakes.

One thought in particular has been filling me with warmth and peace. Every morning on the balcony, I can still picture her standing beneath the light leaning against the door. Smoke curling from between her lips. The soft look in her eyes and the elegant curve of her smile.

It's a photograph etched in my memory. One that I'm hoping is a glimpse of what lies ahead.

Tonight, I'll turn the key to my tiny pickup and drive forty-five minutes down the line. Step through the door of my apartment, wash the work day away, and find a few moments of relaxation before falling into a dream world.

In the morning, I'll write again.


Comments (1)

I want to tell you I like this, but the words I type seem clumsy after the smooth ride you took me on.

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