Wake into the joy of doing

On the lake, ripples of scooters dipping down to the foliage below. The persistent enterprise of nature. What if birds grew despondent and refused to search and denigrated flying, ceased to sing, or explore the land around them? The writer caught with nothing. The painter in her pause. The blank slate remaining blank. Will things become interesting again? Will the muscles of the brain find their way into the creative urge? Is there something worth doing? The absorption in email is destroying the creative push for many of us. One hour per day. Half-hour morning. Half-hour evening. Must we know everything? Be quick about it and stop dallying. Get to purpose. One book, one story, one verse, one poet, one theme at a time. At a time. Life waste is debilitating. Come out of the drowse. Wake into the joy of doing. Exercise the mind.