Literary Hills

In the rolling meadow I spot a lass with long crimson hair, watching me with a pen in her mouth. Stuck on a thought of something unconstrude her eyes catch mine, showing me the depths of blue icy lakes, and momentarily, trapping the power of my mind. Releasing the beauty of color, and creation in me once again. I grab my pencil out of the air and start scribing my love on the hills. As the thoughts keep flowing, my pencil starts smoking from the flurry of words rushing out so fast that I am glad the pristine landscape keeps rolling, so I may inlay it with my poetry. As I get to a sandy road, I look back into those changing pools of blue, she still sits there with her pen in her mouth, and I get flustered by her prismatic sensuality, then watch my idea flicker away.