I didn't mean to write again so soon

An interesting fact about writing

Weeks or months can go by from one bout of writing to the next. You try and all seems forgotten. The flow of words, well of ideas, gone. Everything is awkward and forced. Not enjoyable. Uninspired. 

But you write once. One time. Something comes to you, you succeed. 

And it all comes back. Maybe better than before. It comes so easily. All you needed to do it again was to do it once. You only have to break the paradox. The words are yours again. 

It's a magic to create something you like. To be satisfied. Proud. This thing came from your own mind. After who knows how long of nothing, no ideas, of your mind feeling dry and arid, now there is a soft rain, gently soaking the soul. Encouraging things to grow, become green and lush. There is so much now to write. 

With that in mind, let me bring you to my second post. 

A small dragon's thoughts, at rest, out of doors. 

There is magic here. Even in the heart of the city. 

Something is dropped,

A leaf turns

A fly lands

Across the shade bridge, a football is kicked. Clapping heard. 

Everywhere, there is a quiet magic

A magic of being, of knowing 

Of people, and sunlight that slants down,

Mazing through buildings and trees right on to me

Just for me

For each of us. 

Of peace. And of coexistence. 

Every human that passes has their own whole life

Their own unique truth

I am just a passing murmur, 

Perhaps not consciously noticed

Slipping in and out of this tiny moment of their time

As quickly and silently as they do through mine

In this the most tiny instance of human interaction

(Acknowledgment of other)

There is magic also. 

Rook, squirrel, pigeon, fly, human, sunlight, tree, and grass blade, all are siblings

In this little glowing patch 

In the park

In the city

In England. 

The sun's net of rays moves on

Its magic slips over me, past me

What drew me here slowly moves away, and I 

Am left to rise, continue, and search for the next place

To follow the tug on my heartstrings 

To the next kernel, bubble, acorn

The next glowing ounce of time

To curl up and live in. 

(And then I stand up, blink, and see)

I've been lying in the grass, and my leggings are covered in dead leaves and the detritus of nature's carpet. Oh well, brush off, and home I go. 

I am, once again, 

Ordinary.