Some places inspiration comes easily.
To me this often happens when I am near water.
Walking alone.
Words come floating.
Forms into sentences.
Wind from the sea grabs the tiny sand grains.
Blows them into a tale.
I am there.
Walking the wooden paths.
Smelling the salty ocean.
Letting grains of sand slip through my fingers.
Down at the beach I take my shoes off,
let my toes be cherished by the warm sand.
I have my diary with me.
Sitting down I open it,
and starts to write.
At Asilomar, near Monteray Bay,
inspiration came,
through wind, salt sea, air,
tiny flowers in the white, dry sand.
My novel will not be finished this year,
probably mor the next.
But its story lives in my heart.
And slowly, slowly it forms into words.
Words which might be shared ...
... some day.
Text: Britt Arnhild