There is a point
in the writing of a story
when ideas and images
burst open
and fling themselves
here and there
and you scurry
to
catch
them
before they fly
away.
Life and writing, serious and humorous, old and young, past and present: it's all part of the fabric.
“Maybe we’re here only to say: house, bridge, well, gate, jug, olive-tree, window--at most, pillar, tower--but to say them, remember, oh! to say them in a way that the things themselves never dreamed of so intensely.” --Rilke