The Blank Page

I knew it would be here waiting patiently for me.  Virginal, white in its vast emptiness.  The mirror that offers no reflection.  I have felt its allure now for days.  Its siren calling.  I've caught glimpses of it, out of the corner of my eye, when I was daydreaming about something else.  I've felt its pull.

Perhaps it is a painter's canvas, drawn tight, gesso'ed white.  I am told the picture paints itself, the artist merely holds the brush.  Colors call out to be stroked, chiseled, fanned and blurred.