Procrastination was hanging over the afternoon like a thick blanket of cloud, smothering inclination. She looked outside and was greeted by a sky of grey, a thick blanket of cloud had also been fogging what could’ve been a fine March day. So there she was, stuck inside, hiding away from the gloomy late afternoon and lacking the inspiration to get on with what she had been willing herself to do all day; write.
Some days just had to be written off of course, chalked up to any ounce of inspiration simply remaining elusive. On those days it was easy to blame other things as being too distracting but really they just filled the time when nothing else was getting through. “No point willing yourself to type when you have absolutely zilch to say”, she thought, because in those moments it was Twitter that became the day’s focus. She hauled herself away from the laptop, there was absolutely no way that she was going to let timelines and news feeds be the sum total of today’s work.
The only tweets she’d let herself be entertained by now were those of the birds that frequented the garden, “such a cliché”, she mused, but if anything was going to inspire it’d be nature, right? Zero procrastination there. She may not be having a productive day but the rest of nature just bloody well got on with it. Or maybe not. Was this gloomy, lackluster, grey weather not just a mirror of what she was feeling? Still, the little brown birds bobbing around the garden were going about their day just fine. She sat and watched as the smallest visitor perched at the side of the bird bath and took a sip. Refreshment was now at the forefront of her mind.
The clock read 4pm and she could count on one hand the minutes that had passed, yet the light was different now. The previous view of a foggy gloom replaced by a luminous golden glow. Bursting beads of bright amber catching her attention, captivating, exciting and stunning; the bounce of light from a thousand sequins moving through the street in celebration.
Yes, she could see shimmering sequins, dancing beads and garlands of fresh flowers; a strong perfume filling the air as the early evening sun had made an appearance with just enough warmth to entice the scents into the remainder of the day. The fresh floral aromas mingled with the heady scents of herbs, sweets and fruits; street food vendors; her taste buds tingled. She could taste the produce on offer; the juice of the tropical fruits, the sticky syrup of the candies, the flavourful, uplifting zing of the wild Asian pepper that was seasoning the early evening.
It was intoxicating. It was a carnival “all for me”, she realised, a carnival which overwhelmed her senses with vibrancy and darting flavour. Her world had gone from stillness to a positive riot of joy, a swift journey born from a pint glass and that was enough, that one refresher, that one journey and she knew what she wanted to do, what she’d been willing herself to do all day. She found her notebook and started to write.