looking out, a rainy day
she stands, facing the gulf and letting the wind blow through her hair. invigorating, the waves crashing against the shore mixed with the sweet smell of the early evening hours always manages to take her somewhere, to a place where at last her heart could be free. she remains, holding a two minute vigil in some kind of meditation.

the bench is wet, of course, and as she continues to let the wind play with her hair and clothing it suddenly becomes completely unimportant. the moment is right, and inspiration cannot be held back for anything. not even a slightly damp wooden bench. she sits and unfolds her notebook, takes a moment to take in her surroundings and begins to write.
quiet contemplation, followed by rigorous scribbling...working away, not letting any thought escape. every few moments her task is interrupted by her futile efforts to keep her hair from blowing in the wind. she continues to work, however, until inspiration leaves...or perhaps, a new inspiration is found.

looking up she scans the horizon, searching for something...or someone. she holds her pen as if she is going to continue, but the feeling that there is something out there for her persists. the waves crash against the shore and the wind continues to find its pleasure in her hair.

the moment is gone, and all intentions on writing have faded. its out there, waiting, and she needs to know what is calling her. turning to the beach that had provided her such moments of exhiliration, she bids it good bye and then leaves, a slight limp in her gait and a muted air of determination in her demeanor.

tbe bench remains, still slightly damp. the waves crash against the shore and the wind continues to blow.