Ideas came as his feet met the ground. As his lungs burned and his heart contracted furiously. Sunlight fell through the trees like golden tresses. He could feel it warming his back, encouraging the sweat that already dotted his skin.
Thoughts meandered down pathways he had not trod in years. Through the alleyways and over the dead ends he had long since abandoned. They grew like gathering storm clouds, rolling, thundering in their enthusiasm.
As his muscles tired, his mind soared, through the forests and over the mountains. He left behind the strain, the fatigue, and flew with a wild freedom he had not felt in years. Places he had never thought he would see again flashed within his head. And as he walked the streets of his mind, smiling in greeting, he felt that missing piece finally slide into place.
His heart whole, he unlocked his door and stepped inside. And then there was a pen in his hand and blank paper in front of him and he began to write.