Lazy river of words

 Wildflowers swayed with the gentle breeze as honey bees were fast at work. Powder-blue skies and a puppy cloud only you can see made you smile, as it looked a lot like old Blue.

Last night, the rain came as you dozed off to the tap, tap, tap of raindrops hitting the old tin roof, waking to the sunshine and another country day. Bacon sizzled in the cast-iron skillet, and the biscuits stayed warm, wrapped in a kitchen towel. Eggs sunny side up and a spoonful of homemade strawberry jam topped off with a cup of coffee and a silent belch made for the perfect meal.

It was Sunday, so the heavy chores could wait as you joined your neighbors in prayer at the same chapel your ancestors built brick by brick so many years ago. Once back home, another cup of coffee and a notebook open to a blank page, waiting for inspiration to strike. It didn't take long with the view before you, all God-given, to be amazed at with every gaze.

The words jumped onto the paper, flowing like a lazy river, never knowing where they might lead. You never understood why you were given the gift of storytelling, but you didn't question it as it belonged to you, and you cherished every sentence, every memory, and every stroke of your pen.

As darkness began to fall, you read what you've written, giving up on an answer that would never be answered, at least in this lifetime. The closest you ever came to understanding why you write what you do is that somewhere in your brain, a lazy river flows through your heart, and it's flooded with words that are given to you to create a story that you will continue to write until the lazy river runs dry.

Mike 2025