Whispering Shadow

The sun had nearly reached the horizon. The weather had turned a notch cooler than it had been at mid-day due to the drizzle that prevailed over the past few hours. A brook was meandering through a lush grassland. It could not be seen but the sound of flowing water could be heard at a distance. In addition to the invisible stream of water was a dying stream of colours, flowing from the skies to the earth as a rainbow. In contrast to the multiple shades of the rainbow, the grass was of a monotonous but fresh green tinge. Parts of each standing blade were magnified at points where the drops of rain had settled, glowing under the light of the sun. Some of the blades were trampled along paths used by walkers, but today, they lay deserted except for his presence. One of the paths falling directly in line with the sun was lit by its now soothing light. Her silhouette emerged at a distance, rising along the slope of that path. She was running to him, just like the many sparrows rushing to the...

The sound of the cuckoo reaches my ears. My skin feels the temperature drop a notch. The sun doesn't seem to be gazing at me any more. Dark clouds fill the skyline. The breeze carries the message - it is time! It cannot be seen, but it has arrived. The scent of the earth cannot be mistaken. A flash is seen in the sky, like that coming from God's own camera. Clouds begin to thunder. In a matter of minutes, all doubts are put to rest as the thin drizzle matures into a visible heavy shower. Some animals take shelter, birds ground their flight. Greens appear greener. Children start screaming, possibly with fear or joy. When I see them run out of their homes and dance right under the rain, I know it is the latter. Instinctively, I pull out my camera and capture the moment. The photographs are about average. Something in me makes me not want to care about technical perfection. After the light dims to unacceptable levels for pictures, I head to the terrace. The shower is now heavier....

I have had inspiration in plenty. Inspiration has translated to ideas. Ideas have formed a story in the head, some beautiful ones. And yet, every time I start writing, I leave the posts (five already) unfinished. I have hit a writer's block. Is there a known cure?