Member-only story
Freewriting | Prose poetry
Does it sometimes?
Feel like magic
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Does it sometimes astonish you that these words flowed through your hands and onto the page or screen?
Does it grab you by the short and curlies to see them appear and really not quite grasp that you spelled them into being?
Does even the fact that we have words, to spread and scatter like luminous breadcrumbs to follow, knock you for six? A magician’s trick?
Do the ways of the muse, the flow, the get up and go, the pick up a pen, the sit at a laptop again, the flights of fancy and strange imaginings, astound you daily? Or at least on the days when they rush at you as a horde of impetuous imps, jabbering and squealing to have their moment in the light of a reader’s eyes, in the warmth of a reader’s heart.
Does it sometimes seem like you’ve been hijacked by flirtatious demons, swirling words around like fireflies, to bewitch and illuminate the darkness, to tantalise you with luscious yearnings, creating alchemy as you sit back and watch?
Does wisdom sit on your shoulders as often as mystification, the how and the why of it all, pouring through the funnel of you, leaping as an acrobatic moth onto…
