On waiting for words.

I sit down to write. Staring at the screen, waiting for the words to form, thoughts to congeal, sentences to miraculously leap from my fingertips to the bouncing cursor on the page. A research proposal, the last step before leaping into fieldwork, is on my mind. On my mind, waiting. The fog rolls in as I look out the window. Lapping the window pane it hauntingly fills the street. The sun is about to rise. I'm still waiting.