Photons

Like this Spring breeze, my mind is busy: bicycles, traffic, the five miles I've just walked, the pretty girls I've just seen.
Writing once felt like feeding myself through a meat grinder. The maw must be fed and I must grind myself into meat.
Today, words are like photons.
They are innumerable energetic starlets shooting down from the sky and impacting on me and everything else, and all I have to do is let them.
Through teenage clouds, glowering and energetic, the sun stares my way. The scent of newly-cut grass gusts around me.
And now the sun's obscured, but I'm still sitting in light.