Within me are the makings of a perfect storm; tumultuous thoughts twist and tangle together with long-lost figments and fancies, kicking up dust and stirring leaves long settled in my mind. If I could but unleash the force of these imaginings and develop them into something tangible, there may just happen to be a mind-storm of epic proportions.
Alas, as I place pen upon paper, all becomes calm. My hand stays still as a statue. Not one thought flutters. Not one picture glimmers in the light of an idea. Not one ink stroke does my pen produce. Nothing at all. The leaves settle once again.
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