You know when you get an idea?
But it’s not even an idea yet. It’s still just a feeling, an essence.
An essence that seems to help it all make sense.
You try to put it into words, but it gets lost somehow – in the translation.
So you go back to what you were doing.
To the old ways and familiar ideas.
But that essence stays with you.
Like a light at the other end of the forest, your mother warns you about.
This is why I write.
I want to stop what I’m doing and pay attention.
To search for the breadcrumbs, and where there are none, drop my own.
I will search until I find the words to describe the feeling and carve a path to the essence.
And I won’t stop until it all makes sense.