meandering

It was not that life was meandering, it was I.
The laughter, the tears, the pride, the indignation, the love; they all brought inspiration, carried on a wind begging for effort and change; swept away by a breeze of indifference and inaction.

That one day, I remember, was burning hot. At least by my by-then softened standards. The searing heat burnt through the sunscreen and prickled my neck. I clutched a bottle of water in my hand as I walked under shade-less trees and brown streets. The deserted street seemed full of life- it was as if the emptiness of the surroundings was bombarding my mind with inspiration.
But I walked on, unwittingly insistent on letting the inspiration smoulder and wither in the heat. And so I did. The little flames of ideas burnt out. Gleaming points of insight faded away. Crystal clear pools of understanding evaporated.

And I was left walking, looking merely for shade again.