In the spring air my soul did repose as if butterfly-borne, borne by as many as Brighton beach has stones. The city breeze was a briny-bluster, yet the kind that elevates. The traffic lulled and surged as if caught in gentlest lunar-gravity. Then, as a kindling star, newborn in a nebular, a lyric sparked into life, lighting up my chest, lighting up my heart. My soles pounded the concrete pavement, the streets passed in a blur. To the birds that sung upon my route, the ones I noticed not, apologies! Deep apologies! Yet an idea-galaxy does not wait.
As a writer I spend so much time alone, me and the ideas in our creative bubble. Yet there are days I need other people around, even if it is simply in a cafe. To me, ideas are the same, they need other ideas around so that they can weave and evolve into the new and wonderful. So I take my ideas and I sow them as far and wide as possible as soon as they emerge. Each of them needs to fly, to enter the productive chaos of the creative ether and be reborn in the thoughts of others... be part of the ever expanding frontier of creativity.