Hemingway’s council for writers was never to fully empty the creative well but to always leave something untapped. The little one doesn’t expel grows and upon returning to pen and paper the writer finds plenty has amassed while on furlough. Hemingway understood inspiration. Discipline or pressing on is crucial in any process, but in the end we simply cannot make unless we are moved – a stirring of some measure.
In July I visited Big Sur. It stands as a fortress against fiber optics and demands attention. Everyone we met stood in awe of such an impressive and immersive landscape. We looked leeward to mountains draped in flora, splendid in their own right. We looked windward from vistas affording overwhelming impressions of the largest ocean on the planet – the Pacific.
It took little to no discipline to write in the shadow of such surroundings, a torrent of inspiration. In Big Sur we were driven to the grandest of distractions.
*Sounding – The action or process of measuring depth.

In cloud near ancient chasm bridged
We mortals swarm by infant impulse
To paint ourselves over terra’s remnant scars
On pocket-sized cave walls

Wind and wave cleve in ear
Near patchwork hills crowned with rust
While tethered in the turquoise
Sway trees we’ve yet to murder

Shelter’s made through inclination
As glass swells and Spirit broods
We crack shells to share the yoke
A meal to lift the burden

Blue flesh breathes over shoulder
Where tectonic teardrops dwarfed
By all that’s gone and all that’s yet
Erode in white awaiting union

Volcanic veins with life adorned
Lay hapless in the rapid merge
What distant molten fury formed
Is now diminished in the surge

The cave a’shimmer
Our fullness measured
Shadows crawl as we retreat
Back into the sonic boom