At a boxer's jog pace I take my run around a scenic course I call "three pond trail". The first mile is always stiff and a "do or die "trial. After this point and somewhere midway, the sensation I experience is more mental than physical. The body is drawn apart and I click into an almost effortless groove. I seem to glide inches off the ground. My extremities appear to be assisted by angelic wing with each body part working independently yet all in synch like a well oiled sewing machine. The blood which holds all creative juices pulses with force, breaking if any, the dams of "writer's block" and flooding the hard ground of so called "dry spells."In short the endorphins kick in and a "runner's high" is in full swing. At this point a burst of inspiration blows the top of my head off like a volcano erupting and like lava flow, hot new ideas come all at once. So quickly in fact it's difficult to contain the rush of the lyrics and imagery. Symptoms of grandiose also pour in making some new founded concepts seem greater than they actually are. At any rate when I finish the last leg walking to cool down and I'm sitting with the car door open, I scribble in my sketchbook as much as I can recall and rework these ideas later when my heart rate has lessen.