A Lost Art

Something about the snow has inspired this new love for writing. Maybe its the fact that I've been trapped inside all day. It's possible. Or maybe its the mystique of the softly falling flakes on my windowpane, beckoning me to use a long-forgotten skill. It has been a while, unfortunately. Too long. The throes of everyday life have enthralled me to the point that I cannot remember the last time I picked up a pen and paper and just poured out my heart to no one. I guess in this fast-paced culture I live in, taking the time to account for the day events is out of the question?.. Its such a remedy to the complications of daily life, writing is; a passive but doubtlessly effective way to release one's deepest fears, aspirations, and thoughts without the nag of ridicule and negativity, unless self-induced. The pen is a haven for the wondering mind, the paper a sanctuary for the restless soul.