“At least 1000,” he replies
Leaving the topic for me to decide.
“Which story?” I ask. “What should I do?”
“You’re the writer, that’s up to you.”
“Do you think I should get away from here?
I seem to do better if I go somewhere.”
“How about the botanical gardens today?
You often seem to find inspiration that way.”
So I pack myself off to that garden of blooms
hoping to find the words hidden in my womb.
(After all the stories that have yet to be told
are like babies only a few days old.)
I wander, I walk, I wonder, I think
I sit at a table to write and to drink.
(Water of course, I’m not a fool
alcohol is not a good writer’s tool).
My table overlooks a garden pool
My pen feels like a magic tool.
I write some words, some good, some bad
a journey into a life I’ve never had.
I don’t know where these words will lead
but I’m thankful for inspiration that planted the seed.