I close my eyes again,
pick up the pen
and write in the dark.
My muse likes to come home late after a night on the town or from moonlit hilltop walks. She crashes about like that flatmate I had at college who never slept in the hours of darkness.
Then she starts doodling with that new piece we've been working on. Comes up with a river of ideas, out loud.
My limbs are holding onto sleep. My brain is trying to convince me that I'll remember these images in the morning. I know the magic will start to fade as soon as I open my eyes.
So, I do the right thing. I reach for the pen, the notebook, hunch around the page, write until there's nothing more to say.
In the morning, my words look like a huge and enthusiastic monster was learning to write on pages that cramped his style. I can't read all the words, but I get the gist.
4.10 am is my 11th stone in the River of stones this month. Click here to find out more about the project and to read some more small stones.