(OLD) Short Story 1: Spark

I typed. No, I typed on a typewriter. Why? Well, I- I looked up. None of my words were coming on the pages. I checked everything- paper, buttons, maintenance. Nothing wrong. Nothing. Then it came. It came from the willow trees. It came from the light-blue azure sky. It came from the grassy, luscious fields that drew me in. It came.... from me. From me and my words. It stood, waiting for more. None came. It disappeared somewhere, having melted into thin air, slowly sizzling in and out of existence. Where was it? That strange spark I felt? Every time I wrote, I saw it. Every time I stopped, It disappeared. What was this? Curious, but restrained.