As I set here looking at a blank page, I wonder what I should write today? Then in occurred to me to just write and do not think about it too much. How many great works have been written by people who did not have a clue about what they were going to write that particular day?
Thoreau, Steinbeck, Walden and many of the greats all had those days I suspect where no matter what, the urge to write was there but nothing would come forth onto the page. Sometimes the page is a blank canvas full of possibilities with nothing to put on it. I am but a beginning writer and do not compare myself in any way to the authors I have cited.
However; for me it is one of those days as nothing notable comes to mind, but the urge to write is almost overwhelming. The blank canvas taunts me with its white background, the sea of swirling potentialities to let my mind come forth with something intelligent to say and to share with all of you.
But alas, not today for the harder I try the farther away it gets…
So like a butterfly that you try to catch always but is just out of your grasp, I will rest and let ideas come to me for there is tomorrow with more blank canvases and burgeoning ideas to share.