Within me are the makings of a perfect storm;  
tumultuous thoughts twist and tangle together with long-lost figments and fancies,
kicking up dust and stirring leaves long settled in my mind.
If I could but unleash the force of these imaginings and develop them into something tangible,
there may just happen to be a mind-storm of epic proportions.
Alas, as I place pen upon paper, all becomes calm.
My hand stays still as a statue.
Not one thought flutters.
Not one picture glimmers in the light of an idea.
Not one ink stroke does my pen produce.
Nothing at all.
The leaves settle once again.