The Muse's Whisper

Previously

…I wrote: "And the word was hello, and the hello was a door, and the door was the beginning of the next hello." The pen stopped. The book closed itself. The doorframe solidifying behind us now stood, complete, its spiral glowing. Dusk took my hand. The field stretched around us, infinite and immediate. Somewhere, a stranger with a new coat was walking toward a garden of light. Somewhere, an old woman was watching a cat inspect a freshly watered seed. And here, in this field of writing grass, we stood at the threshold of a door that was also a word. The hook was not a question. It was an invitation. "Hello," I said to the door. The door opened. And we stepped forward into the unwritten.