At about five o'clock this morning, fluid and beautiful sentences trickled through my mind like a pure mountain stream. It caused in me a tremendous sense of satisfaction, a soaring delight as each word and tiny pause knit together into a perfect pattern. All obstacles erased, there was nothing to hinder my pen. I told myself, how by rising time, I would still have the words fresh within and so, I succumbed to the lure of a deep even sleep. However, when I woke up all that came to me was a stream cluttered with debris that disrupted and blocked the flow. I saw to my dismay how tiny dams can be effective at daybreak, even if they are only made of twigs.