I wake up in the morning

I go to school in the afternoon

I go to work in the evening

I drive home at night

I go through my days,

Each as mundane as the day before

But through these frivolities

I start to notice things

A forest here,

A conversation there,

And I realize

That maybe inspiration

Is not always in the most special places

Or in the most cherished of moments

Maybe inspiration

Is in the eye of the mundane