Tried to recapture that old creative feeling in the shower this a.m., where thoughts, it seems, are caught within each droplet joining into wet sheets of warmth that run from head to toe and spark up all the senses.
My first thought was of an orange–well, a clemantine, exactly–and how such a small common ball of fruit is fruitful in its feeding all the senses. Bright, brighter, brightest of the secondary colors. The textures–orange peel of course, the first one thought of; yet the soft, felt-like feel of the protection of that cream-white inner surface. And the plump yet giving segments, each in its own resistent veil that pierced discloses tiny sacs of pulp with all their sweet juices within. The aroma of the fruit starts with the peeling, and changes as the layers are attacked and won. And finally, the prize of taste.
Then just when I began to feel that this was a forced creative exercise, the water running off my head created a curtain of my hair over my ears, and for a while I was in another world. Outside sounds cut off, yet water pounding somewhere from the top an seemingly inside my head, produced such a feeling of detachment from the world. Heavenly, eyes closed, a space in which I found such peace and solitude yet felt as one with all the time of present, past and future. I don’t really know just how long I stood there, but broke the spell before I drifted into a self-induced hypnotic trance. It was awesome, and I never could, with some attempt, repeat the completely perfect position that brought me there again.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology