Out of the fog…

I love foggy walks in the mornings where I slowly blink the sleep out of my eyes and the world comes into focus.  And where my mind latches onto one idea and then another and I make up ways to remember these all the way home.  (I know–I should carry a notebook, but sometimes it seems that I free my mind by not having anything available to write in.)

Today I walked down the hill to the bridge.  The banks of the redefined brook still surprise me, and the first line of a poem popped into my head.  I try to write a poem every morning, but I didn’t want the line so soon.  I would have to remember it for the rest of my walk and I know how one thought leads to another and another and the first thought is gone like the wisps of fog.  I told myself I’d only have that line, I wouldn’t work on any more, and I continued walking, reciting the line over and over so I could remember it. 

Of course, the part of the brain that doesn’t take any orders popped out the rest of the poem to the rhythm of my footsteps.  I climbed the hill, now reciting three lines. 

Halfway through my walk, headed down the other side of the hill, trying to come up with ways to remember the poem, I realized the scene I muddled around with yesterday has to be entirely rewritten.  But now I knew how.

All I had to do was remember the rest of the way home.

 

Current book:  Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins