Echo Beach

          It's a hot summer day. I'm in the computer room listening to the sound of a sprinkler in someone's lawn. The chatter has been going on for the past hour and a half. It's a soothing sound that mixes in with the ambient noise of the neighborhood. Children at play, lawns being mowed, planes flying overhead. An occasional cloud passes over the sun and drops the temperature a few degrees.
          It's a beautiful day. At the same time it's a bit of a trap. I don't want to call it a trap. Many poets write idyllic verse about lying on their back in the cool grass watching clouds roll by. It is the ultimate Zen, the complete empty mind. That's the trap. The mind needs to be filled. Without direction I find myself flailing about for anything. A newspaper, the Internet, what ever I can find.
          But then it hits me… is it a trap? Through the simple act of writing I suddenly find my inspiration to move to my drawing table.

I think I understand. I need to take advantage of these peaceful moments, take out the trash, empty the mind and begin anew.