What?
I have my best ideas on the move – in the car, the forest path, the check-out queue.
I often tie a knot in the thought and let it cling like a burr where the very importance of it scratches my brain though I never keep a note of little details like what to do, or get, or say.
Instead: What was that thing?
What was that?
What was?
What?
And it wears a hollow in my head, a dark cavern into which tumbles the fear that I may never find my way back to the reason for the knot.
