I sat down under the redwood tree, blooming rose bushes in view, ready to record the sounds of pure inspiration. That’s when the loud truck pulled up to unload freight, and my youngest son came outside to flick objects around on his laps around the yard.
For a moment I felt my paradise was being invaded, but then remembered, when is it ever different? Our perfect moments are always right here, interruptions and frustrations included.
So I hit record anyway. Here’s the sound of perfectly interrupted inspiration:
May your week be perfectly imperfect,
–Alex