Then there was the day that got away from me and I didn’t pick up my journal until after sunset, and it was late spring so sunset was kind of past my bedtime, but I made a commitment to the journal, and so I sat down and scribbled:
What could I possibly bring into existence now, as my brain is telling me to turn out the light?
Perhaps in Transylvania a young woman paces the platform waiting for the train that she hopes will take her to another city by daybreak.
Perhaps an ice cream vendor accidentally mixed two flavors that inexplicably combined into the most delicious blend since vanilla, chocolate and strawberry.
Perhaps a young man is on the cusp of making a life-changing decision about the young woman he thinks he loves.
Perhaps a lonely man stands over his wife’s grave and tries to explain why he could have loved her better.
Will I come back to this page someday and see the germ of a story I could have written, or will I see the seeds of a story I did write and am ever grateful for the spark? In all likelihood whatever I pull from tonight’s musing will not live forever, but I will have gained one more consecutive day of writing at least three pages in this journal. God bless streaks; they take on a life of their own and guilt us into action.
“Just a few more lines,” he whispered. “I have a quota to fill, and I’m almost there.”
Suddenly a face like a cartoon bear filled his field of vision.
Confused, he stammered, “What is THIS all about?”
“I am the ghost of goofy visions,” said the bearish face. “I’m here to make sure you remember to be silly sometimes.”
“Thank you, dear ghost,” he said with honest gratitude. “I had almost forgotten to be preposterous. I feel much better now.”
“Well …” he paused at the precipice before diving into the Well of Deep Thought, which made for a breathtaking finish to an otherwise average day.
“Who or what was that?” said one stranger to another.
“I would guess we’ll never know,” said the other.
