Writer's block

I'm typing this over Omar Puente's spectacular jazz violin improvisation on BBC3. 

It has been a day of tearful struggling over my work.

I am depressed.  

Photo by Richelle Forsey

I waited for Inspiration, but he didn't come. 

Or perhaps he did come but I took his gentle presence too lightly. Did I miss him? Did I miss the signs?

Was I expecting him to arrive with a pomp of flaming colours - or a flourishing fanfare? 

...to have me at hello?

Or has he decided that he'd take a break from the fickle, fastidious old me? 

Have I been a bore?

This pregnant silence is disconcerting. Interrupt it, friend. Pray, do.

God, do not pass me by. Grant me that divine appointment with Inspiration. Let Wisdom come along too, that I might treat Inspiration better when he shows up.