Flow

Writing for me is like a river of words flowing out of me. 

Sometimes raging other times calm and slow. 

Other times it is as if the otters living in the river have built a dam. 

Blocking the flow, 

bringing everything to a halt. 

They build a dam so strong that not even the mighty river can bring it down. 

Not even the smallest of sticks are able to be broken 

Not when they have support. 

But eventually the otters would like to move on and build another dam,

elsewhere in the world. 

Even though the wood cannot be dislodged it can rot away and eventually 

The river flows once more.