I have always found that travel fills my creative tank and unleashes this desire within me to write, write, write. I am stimulated by the new landscapes and environments, by the unfamiliar sights and sounds. everything is refreshed and renewed and I see as with new eyes.
this happens whether I am driving on the freeway headed to cedar city, or sitting in my brother's living room in texas, or relaxing in a lounge chair on top of a cruise ship, watching birds fly above a seemingly endless ocean.
I grab a journal, a notebook, a scratch pad or whatever I can find and the words drip from me and form puddles and lakes and oceans.
but I have just returned from two days in torrey, and I am still awaiting inspiration. I soaked in enough stillness and outrageously stunning scenery to fuel my brain for a year, and yet when I tried putting a creative scrap of sentence on paper I puttered out before a single word escaped my pen.
I am unable to describe my experience.
I am like a radiologist who's forgotten how to read an x-ray.
an architect who cannot draw.
a singer without a song.
a cyclist without a bike.
okay, now I'm back on track.
I am a cyclist with a bike, one who rode a few dozen excellent miles around torrey, utah this past weekend. and having just returned home late this evening, with a seemingly stunted creative drive, I do not have the ability to describe a single mile of my riding.
my belief is that I absorbed so much beauty and space and immensity that it is just taking a while for my mind and soul to incorporate it all. that perhaps tomorrow when I put pen to paper I will be able to find words to express my experience.
but not tonight.
tonight I will remain a writer without a story, but still, and always, a writer with a bike.
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