Inspiration does not come from my computer screen.
The cool morning air slaps my face when I open the front door to start my daily trek along the country road. Pausing at the top of the first climb I view the hills in every direction and lift my head to the warmth of the sun.
Clouds float past, a procession of various shapes and forms. Birds ebb and flow and morph into shapes as they journey to their destination. Vultures swoop and hawks soar.
Birds twitter and rustle in a huge oak while mourning doves coo and mocking birds mimic. A woodpecker hammers against the telephone pole.
I breathe in the fragrance of honeysuckle, smoke, and wet pavement after a rain shower.
A deer bounds across the road while a tarantula marches down. Foxes, snakes, squirrels, cottontail rabbits and cats sometimes cross my path and I am wary of the elusive mountain lion. Horses and goats graze behind fences.
I contemplate God, His creation, His love and grace and mercy.
I pray for guidance.
Ideas flow–beginnings and endings, dialogue, plot and conflict resolutions.
When I reach home I am ready for my mission.
I have a message to share.
I am a writer.