From my writing desk I see only trees and sky.
When I don’t know what to write, sometimes I look out into the trees.
I marvel when many birds are flying from branch to branch. The branches flutter when they leap off. If it has been raining, drops of water spring off. I watch a little bird land on papaya tree branch then quickly jump to an outstretched guava branch. It flies away and I wonder if I’ll ever see the same bird again.
The attempt to make meaningful art is often feels like trying to accurately convey to someone how wonderful something is, like watching tiny birds.