It's easy to think of inspiration as invisible-like the wind-you never truly see it. You only see whatever or whoever is caught up in it. Some are tornadoes in size (like the pause after the profundity of MLK Jr's dream was spoken). Others are small. The wobble of first steps. The pride in last steps. I favor the little commonplace gusts. I find them everywhere, and store them away in invisible balloons tied to my wrist. I collect even the ones no one else notices.
These inspirations carry me over the rockiest terrain, and brighten my skies.
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