In Search of Inspiration

I sat under an ancient oak tree awaiting inspiration.  A bottle of Merlot was my companion.  I was not drowning sorrows, but rather trying to lighten my mood.  I had a writing assignment due, and my negativity toward its constraints was hindering my imagination.

I felt a wet nudge on the back of my shoulder as I heard a soothing whisper ask, “What’s wrong, Fair Maiden?”

I turned quickly and was looking directly into the dark eyes of a doe.  She didn’t scamper away, though I almost did.  I scooted back; the doe inched toward me, not threateningly, just curious.  She tilted her head awaiting my answer.  I picked up the wine bottle to examine how much I had drunk.  Not nearly enough to be seeing talking animals.

She was an animal of beauty and silent strength.  Her fur looked as fine and rich as I had always imagined Rapunzel's spun gold.  Her long dark eyelashes would be the envy of any woman.  Delicate muscles told of running and scampering throughout the forest.  I decided since my hallucination had been kind enough to give me a nonthreatening animal with such poise and stature, I could have the courtesy to answer it. 

“I have to write a story with a choice of three different prompts for class, and I don’t like any of them.  In fact, I don’t like prompts at all.  I think they limit creativity.  What I want to do is write a story about how prompts are wrong, but I'd get graded poorly.  So, I was sitting under this tree waiting for an idea, until I apparently went insane, and now am talking to Bambi.”

The deer giggled.  “You are not crazy, at least not that I know of.”  She spoke soothingly, like a song.  “It is odd that a child has trouble coming up with a story, after all imagination lives in youth.”

It was my turn to giggle.  “At twenty-six-years-old, I am hardly a child,”  I said.  “My days of hopscotch and magical forests have long gone.”

My new friend looked confused, but simply said, “Follow me.”

We walked in silence through the woods I remembered well from my childhood. I recognized a change in my stride, adopting a confident poise of the warrior princess I had dreamed of all those years ago. Watching for ogres, I wondered if there would be any peasants at the river ahead to greet this magical doe and me. Would the seahorses and mermaids welcome me as I soaked my feet in the cool water once again?  Imagine the buzz surrounding my return to visit with a creature of the wood...

We stopped at the edge of the bank, and as I touched the doe’s soft fur, I looked at our reflection in the water.  I was shocked to see standing beside the deer was a pigtailed, freckled face ten-year-old girl who still believed in a world without limitations.  When I moved my hand, so did the reflection.  I touched the water disbelieving.  The doe stood patiently, finding joy in my exploration.

It was too much to believe, but too real to discount.  I skipped back to the oak tree, the doe prancing beside me.  I chose not to question, but to live in the moment.  I had asked for inspiration, and had been shown myself.

I kissed the doe’s head, whispering, “Thank you, I can write my story now.”  With that she disappeared into the woods, and I settled beneath the tree to write this story.