Cool wind, bright sun, soft grass.
A clear sky over students hurrying to class,
Professors shambling along,
And couples entwined.
Not too crowded to be oppressed.
Not too empty to be alone.
It is, above all things, the perfect time to write.
To feel the pulse of life thrumming beneath my feet
And to add my own small beat.
The perfect time to be inspired,
To feel the hunger deep inside that craves to be filled
With my voice, my words, my thoughts.
But I have nothing to say.
Philadelity 