The Constant Buzzing

She started the day outdoors, the comforter holding onto the residue of her dreams as she slipped out from under it. She took a freshly brewed mug of coffee as a companion, as she made her way to the porch. Her dog lay next to her, his legs sprawled comfortably on the wood base. The fresh air filled their lungs, sanctifying their inner beings as a whole. She crossed her legs, looking at the view ahead. Leaves were descending from trees as the wind coarsely blew through, muffling her hair simultaneously. She pulled her legs in tight, her wool socks keeping her extremities warm. And then she felt it, that spark of inspiration. Little trails of thoughts pushed themselves to the front of her mind, remnants of dreams from the night before. Her creativity had awoken, and it was time to expel it before it vanished again. She quickly grabbed her quill as she vigorously wrote the stories that longed to escape her; stories that wanted to be heard. Her creative persona lives just under the surface, softly buzzing, waiting to make its way to the cusp, waiting for inspiration to hit at just the right moment.