Why do I write?

Writing has always opened up my mind. As I search for a subject to write about I am presently seated in the office looking out the window at a garden. A casual glance and the colours spark like flames of light, the wind picks up and the branches dance to the tune.
It is the beginning of a story line and I plunge deeper into my mind. What does the weather herald? Danger? Sudden consummation? An angry fight or deep reflection of events that have occurred? Or is it reflection on mistakes made in the past? I see someone in the lower garden, staring hard at me. Is it the offended or the offender?
A woman! But what is driving her to stare at me? Her plan? I suddenly find myself painting her picture in my mind. How is she dressed? Is she thin or slightly rounded? How is her face set? Does her body stance indicate warmth and trust or is she already beginning to display impatience, anger and intolerance? She stands boldly in the lower garden, but what does her facial expression imply? Let’s say her face is vacant. She is far away, thinking things through. Her face however may become a dark triangle, her eyes black as night.
The imagination starts to flow and I pick up the pen and a story unfolds. In my mind I step outside, treading carefully only to find myself blinded by the dazzle of the sun…and I find that I have written three pages. To write is to imagine and to discover long lost worlds. The woman in the garden is sitting at a coffee table, close to where I had first seen her and so I walk down to the lower deck.
My wife is sipping her morning coffee, smiling, and next to her is a cup of coffee for me.