From a gentle piano sonata by Mozart to fresh coffee and “This Is For When” because Bauhaus.
There was no shade of a moving pen. In the silence nothing was moving. No lines connecting these letters formed words and sentences.
The state of the blank page remained as empty as dry acres before the rain season started. Nothing happened until a gust of wind moved some dust.
Not much longer after movement began, shadows entered from the sky. Shaped like clouds and white as ivory. Many white shapes added themselves and the sky became darker.
One drop became two. Two drops became four and an infinite amount of water fell, rained down on the dry soil. Pools of water accumulated and dust became mud.
Mud, the combination of semi-fluid water and dust softened the land. Infertile harsh earth welcomed life again with a gentle softness.
Looking at all this two eyes observed the change of seasons from a short distance. The wait was over. Showers of rain drops kept falling and a lone figure stood there.
Breathing in and breathing out a sign of life escaped as a sigh of relief followed. The moving chest quivered with every rain drop like dust softening in the heaving flood.
Each drop of water carried its own shadow. The return of life was producing a dance of shadows on once dry acres. As such a pen scribbled on a once blank page.
Indented, shapes, lines and scratches inhabited a sheet of paper after ink left a trace of life.
No silence. Music brings life to one’s mind…
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