Moments, Spirals and the Sound of Butterfly Wings

Tea: White Grapefruit.

Music: Norah Jones, "Come Away With Me"

Time: Night.

I've always considered a good deal of my writing -- as opposed to workwords -- to be momentarian in nature.

Things noticed in brief -- a wild strawberry, an inexpertly removed tattoo, an argument between strangers (to me) in an unfamiliar city -- tell larger stories. The stories are in the details, I tell the fourth graders entrusted to me once a week.

Or as friend/colleague/undefinable kindred spirit Seánan Forbes says, Life is lived in the detours.

Even much of my my longer work hinges on small things, moments, tiny spirals in a Fibonacci sequence. Things can go this way or that way, and any minute act can turn the actor into an Amazon butterfly. The storm hits, half a continent (or half a planet) away ... but is it a tornado, or a gentle rain over a Kansas vineyard?

And in focusing on moments, can one lose sight of the big picture? It's a danger, I suppose. Turning to look at one thing means turning away from another. That in itself is an event, one with spirals all its own.

Moments, choices, spirals and storms ... I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, as Pooh once said, and big thoughts sometimes elude me.

Just for fun, though, I'm going to add two more paragraphs. There's no reason, really. It's just to keep you reading for another few seconds. Everything else in your life is now delayed for that span of time. Maybe you'll miss something. Maybe you'll find something you would have missed.

Flap, flap, flap ...