He screamed until his vocal chords felt ragged and torn. He couldn't take this any more. Painfully and slowly, he started to cry at the completely, utterly, totally blank canvas that stared back at him. He needed inspiration, but his mind was full of clutter. Irrelevant memories, pointless trails of thought, but a total vacuum of ideas. He resolved to do something about it.
Tenderly and carefully, he pulled himself together and dragged himself to his door. Somehow he would have to bring himself to face the outside world, the city, the people . . . and the sky. He opened the door that protected him from the business of the rest of the population and the light flooded in all too suddenly. He screwed his eyes up instinctively and gingerly stepped into the street.
The sky stretched and yawned easily over the cityscape like the cool, clear, beautiful blanket that it should be, whilst a couple of clouds just... drifted... by. The city itself seemed energetic and animated as the hurriedness of the people within it gave it life. The great reaching trees in the street waved their limbs in the air. The buildings of the street seemed to be bursting to escape from themselves; they were so mundane and yet so obviously vibrant. The sunlight poured down kindly onto the concrete street and burnt the soles of his feet as they touched the ground.
He started walking sombrely and privately to his eventual destination: the café, where he could relax and be ignored for as long as he wanted. Passers by seemed intrigued by his curious, delapidated appearance as he briskly walked past them, anxious to escape from their attention. Eventually he reached his destination and took a seat outside at a cheap white plastic table on a cheap white plastic chair under a cheap striped umbrella, and waited for a waitress to make her way over to him.
"Good afternoon sir. Would you like to order something now?" she asked politely.
"Umm. Do you sell any… herbal teas?" He spoke in a rhythm that was unfamiliar to the waitress, as if he had taken the time to choose every word carefully.
"Oh, yes we do sir. We have lemon, peach, mint, and nettle."
"Yes. Thankyou, I'll have the mint please."
"Certainly, Sir." With that, she left abruptly.
As he waited for her to return, he looked around the café. It wasn't very busy, and he casually examined everyone and everything that he could see, pessemistically hunting for inspiration.
Then someone caught his eye. She was beautiful. She smiled at him, got up, and left silently.



* * *

He painted.
He painted vigorously, he painted energetically, he painted kinetically.
He painted the sky, that had stretched and yawned easily over the cityscape like the cool, clear, beautiful blanket that it should be, and its couple of clouds that had just drifted by. He painted the city, that had seemed energetic and animated as the hurriedness of the people within it had given it life. He painted the great reaching trees in the street that had waved their limbs in the air. He painted the buildings of the street that seemed to be bursting to escape from themselves; that were so mundane and yet so obviously vibrant. He painted the the concrete street that the sunlight had poured down on so kindly and burnt the soles of his feet as they touched the ground.
But most of all, he painted her.

In*spire" (?), v. t. [OE. enspiren, OF. enspirer, inspirer, F. inspirer, fr. L. inspirare; pref. in- in + spirare to breathe. See Spirit.]

1.

To breathe into; to fill with the breath; to animate.

When Zephirus eek, with his sweete breath, Inspired hath in every holt and health The tender crops. Chaucer.

Descend, ye Nine, descend and sing, The breathing instruments inspire. Pope.

2.

To infuse by breathing, or as if by breathing.

He knew not his Maker, and him that inspired into him an active soul. Wisdom xv. 11.

3.

To draw in by the operation of breathing; to inhale; -- opposed to expire.

Forced to inspire and expire the air with difficulty. Harvey.

4.

To infuse into the mind; to communicate to the spirit; to convey, as by a divine or supernatural influence; to disclose preternaturally; to produce in, as by inspiration.

And generous stout courage did inspire. Spenser.

But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. Shak.

5.

To infuse into; to affect, as with a superior or supernatural influence; to fill with what animates, enlivens, or exalts; to communicate inspiration to; as, to inspire a child with sentiments of virtue.

Erato, thy poet's mind inspire, And fill his soul with thy celestial fire. Dryden.

 

© Webster 1913.


In*spire" (?), v. i. [imp. & p. p. Inspired; p. pr. & vb. n. Inspiring.]

1.

To draw in breath; to inhale air into the lungs; -- opposed to expire.

2.

To breathe; to blow gently.

[Obs.]

And when the wind amongst them did inspire, They waved like a penon wide dispread. Spenser.

 

© Webster 1913.

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