A sudden Inkling.
An itching of hands
An urge to create
An urgent longing.
The sound of an Idea
The sweet sweet smell of a new creation
I smile, my tools smile, the paper grins widely.
My hands begin to move in tune with the flow of my thoughts.
The choreography of the letters being born is enough to calm the most turbulent of storms.
Finally, the 100 dollar piece of everything and nothing comes alive.
The writer smiles.