alone

He sits there all alone. Despair, destitution and an unbearable confusion has descended swiftly like the mists of the Ruahines befalling the Takapau plains making the cars and trucks on old highway 52, anchor on the brakes and sneak along that road, taking eons to travel the few miles to Waipukurau. The block has struck him once again, words appear then fade, and he cannot find what he is searching for. Dwelling on what might have been, what should have been, he’s had enough and makes a coffee. Whilst looking at that blank screen the torment has become too much and being not yet ready to give in he screams, “my moment of inspiration will come!”