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.