I sit and I think. I think long and hard about what I should share today but nothing comes to mind. A void, a black hole of emptiness exists in the fertile garden which is my mind, sucking every suggestive thought down the throat of inadequacy. Sucking it down into the reservoir which is my cooking pot of thought.
My ladle of dreams, my dipstick of memories, my whisk of experience continue to stir and churn the froth which forms my being seeking to find satisfaction for my creative tongue, but alas, it tastes not that which wets the pallet of ingenuity.
But I fear not for even though the what I serve today is cold and tasteless there is still food on my expressive table.