I seem to arrive back to the statement of ‘I’ve been meaning to write’ as a catapult for inspiration, for it to waltz in for your amusement. See, lately, writing academic reports, has left me feeling, uninspired. I now put thought into only succinct sentences. Rambling has been left for the audio.
Last month, on the way to catching the bus to campus, I noticed a balloon on the road. A little girl on the adjacent footpath was dressed in some fancy, Halloween outfit. She seemed in visible distress; the way children do not seem to mind if their tears are shed in the open. Her mother does not follow the age-old instructions of ‘look left, right, then left’. She jumps to the middle of the road, picks up the stranded balloon, and hands this back to her girl.
This all occurred in about 20 seconds.
November has been an even busier month. But even then, those 20 seconds have seen many failed attempts at trying to wonder why they remain with me. A writer would say, they offer a glimpse into how we risk our lives for those whom we wish for only happiness. How we reach for all that life whisks away from us. I could proclaim I would have said the same, but the thoughts of my English teacher frowning at my wordiness are forever fresh in my mind.
Today, I can’t not end this any other way;
In moments is all meaning.
Until next time.