I noticed a little something different as I stepped out the door this morning. There was a crispness in the air that I haven’t felt for months. The oppressive heat that had assaulted my nostrils was gone, replaced by cool, fresh air and the scent of freshly turned earth that follows a soaking rain.
I pushed the door open with both hands and sauntered to the soda counter. Sitting on an old high stool I gazed around and took in the shelves that ran floor to ceiling. They were packed solid with merchandise I barely recognized. Trinkets, games and toys lined the walls and even fell onto the floor; the smell of mildew stung the air and I felt as if I was trespassing time itself.
Iâ€™ve found that creativity is almost a possession; the work takes over, and youâ€™re not your own again until itâ€™s done. For better or worse, youâ€™re bound to culminate the idea or it will never let you be. It may sound a little scary, but itâ€™s the biggest thrill in the world.