When the dry land appears

It is inevitable, unavoidable - the seas of wonder crash and thunder against the sands for a time, a magical, ephemeral, brief period of time.  Ideas cascade down like so many cresting waves, pouring into each other, rushing and gushing forth.
And then, slowly, the dry land begins to appear.
You shudder with dread.  The familiar is gone, the strange quietness of a desert begins to chase away the remembered ever changing song of the muse and you are left bereft and alone, parched with the thirst for one more new idea to slake your growing doubts.
I sit and wait for the waters to rise again, I know they will. If I but wait, they will return.  A thousand times more majestic than the last.
If I but wait and not concern myself.

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