Palmtree Contemplations

There's a reason they call it "writer's block". For me, it means every good idea that I have suddenly seems so terribly cliche that all I want to do is rip it to shreds and watch all my silly words burn amber to black to grey. I hate this feeling with everything that is in me. The inability to express what is going on around me creates this strange, frustrating vortex of emotion. People might think I'm angry, but I really just want to be able to write something good and I can't think how to do it. Every sentence I begin seems ridiculous, even the one I am now finishing. I wish I had some easy answer to give. Why do I sound like a cynical old woman in my inner thoughts, criticizing the world and feeling that nothing is original. Yet, when the sparrows take flight and I am standing below watching their black-winged clusters flap against the gold-tinged azure sky of twilight, I remember what it is to wonder. I remember the little girl who used to stomp through

The only freedom I ask is this: Give me a field to roam in, Flowers to pick, sunshine to bask in, A sky bursting with blue, and above all, The strength to lay all these "good" burdens at Your feet And the sense to kneel and listen to The only truth worth hearing: You are God and I am Yours.

The young man did not know what to think when he saw her coming. At first he thought she was a mirage, another hallucination to torment him in his inner struggle. Then, as the tattered edges of her clothes came into focus, he knew she was real. The confusing things about her were the lack of shoes and something else the young man did not at first identify. Coming out of the desert, people always looked worn-out and dirty. She was both of those, and yet something else as well. Glad was the word for it, the young man decided. He wanted to ask her how she had done it and why on earth was she glad? She was, after all, barefoot, sunburned, bruised, and dirty. Caught between his confusion and inner battling- should I go? should I stay?- the young man silently contemplated the ripples of the sand before him. "Hello," the young woman called out. He looked up, realizing that she had advanced and was determined to speak to him. He nodded. She stopped a few feet from him, her filthy