Today is one of those languid days; even the weather can’t muster up anything unusual. The grass lazily sings and birds drift on an invisible breeze. Nothing seems to be happening. And yet . . .
Just when boredom seems bound to overtake us all, a child picks up a stick – no, a sword or is it a wand? Ten minutes later it becomes a riding crop and then a baton. Nothing is static when there is a child’s mind, a child’s curiosity, a child’s imagination. That is the heart of a writer – or it should be.
Don’t let those lazy, summer days fool you. They can be the most beautiful and productive of them all!