creativity

Creativity is an elusive creature.

It stirs often at the most inconvenient times.

I wish that I could tie it down, harness it, and make it mine.

But it doesn’t belong to me.

It is but a wandering traveler.

It goes where it pleases and stops when is needed, but never stays for long.

I’ve learned that when it sets up camp on my pages or on my pillow late at night, to go where it beckons, to take what is given.

To camp with it for a while.

For I know when morning comes, and the soft glow of the morning sun filters in, the wandering traveler will already be gone.

And so, as irrational as it may seem, whenever I feel its presence return, I will halt all else, sit down with it again, and not stand until it departs once more.