The ukulele is sleek in my hands.

The strings vibrate as I thrust them with my thumb.

Then, the process commences,

ideas rush through my head like a storm cloud.

The ideas

zing out

like lightning.

They struck my thumbs,

lighting them with a fire of adrenaline.

Gradually, the ideas string themselves together;

a song inaugurates itself out of the emptiness that is my brain.

My hands start to catch up with my thoughts,

and they agglutinate into one;

blazing a flurry of emotions from my head onto paper and into the world.

My core,

shining bright, spinning inside me,

centers me,

as I let go of everything holding me down.

I’m flying,

I’m as light as air,  

my worries are a blur below me,

practically invisible to the naked eye.

I start to plunge,

falling,

 down,

   down,

      down.

I hit the cold hard ground that is reality,

one wrong note after the other.

My strumming pattern falls apart,

disintegrates in my hands,

spark diminishing.

The curves of the ukulele crush my skin,

the heft increases as the blaze shrinks into an ember.      

I urge for someone to pull my body out of the cold,

and bring me back to the warmth of inspiration.

I glance to my lyrics;

my spark prepares to reignite into something much more forceful.

My thoughts move quickly;

they fan the flame;

it roars into a bonfire of revision.   

Basking in calm the heat overwhelms and flows through my body;

the song is finished,

I take a deep breath

and let go.