In-Between

The days when pen and paper do not meet

When the lettered keys grow cold

When inspiration flies away

Darting between hum and drum

To avoid the ordinary

Like some fleet and furtive accipiter

I wonder when the mood will return-

A day a week or more?

When trees or birds or sky will inspire

A line or two

A reflection of time or place

The in between days are empty pages

No hunts no pecks

Until maybe

a vermillion flash through a wall of green

and a cardinal ‘s sweet song

“Purdy, purdy, purdy”

Full, rich and clear

Cheers the day

or a sinking sun

mellow golden orb against an orange and purple sky

dying to be reborn against the next morn’s new one

sets the mood to feel and think and write

of sights, sounds and scenes

until in-between

the doldrums sap the creative winds

and the sails fall flat

mind adrift until once more

the trades fill the canvas

and the in-between day

is just a memory