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.
I’ve found that creativity is almost a possession; the work takes over, and you’re not your own again until it’s done. For better or worse, you’re bound to culminate the idea or it will never let you be. It may sound a little scary, but it’s the biggest thrill in the world.