Every morning

Every morning I come into my office,

sit down at my desk, record the date and time,

and for thirty minutes, sometimes longer, 

I open my journal, select a pen, and write.

The first words, the first thoughts,

sometimes play hide-and-seek,

wanting to sleep a few more minutes

before playing on the page,

shy, perhaps, about revealing themselves,

or still sleepy, unsure if they're

ready to begin.

Once the pen touches the paper

and a spot of ink appears

beneath it on the page,

those words and those thoughts

gain courage and strength

and begin to race each other

onto the page to see who will be

the first to appear, 

flowing like a stream,

gaining momentum and force,

like a river merging with the sea.

Each word another drop of water,

the letters like sea spray

released by waves crashing

onto the shore,

rivulets forming in the sand

as the tide retreats.

You can feel your breath

ebbing and flowing

at the beginning

and end 

of each line,

leaving diamond crystals

glittering on the sand,

and shells you've never seen before

waiting to be picked up

and carried away.