Chance of Showers
I think of them as brain showers, moments of words aligning in resolute ideas, sprinkling ideas of unsupported reasonings in my thoughts. Where from the moment they start they come in constant flows of drizzling words. No real reason or rhyme, no real rhythm or timing, just words lining up in sentences where I am at a loss to speak; left only to think, how wonderful, that somewhere in the confines of my mind there is a logic splattering little puddles of phrases that make for a delightful blueprint of blooming images where I can spend a few minutes outside all the usual. And in my moments of those pleasantness's I realize that words don’t always have something to say; they don’t always hold an intent for anyone in anyway. They’re just there. Plodding along as I go about my day cleaning a kitchen or folding the laundry or bathing in a warm soapy tub. Just as playful and as mindful as a breath of fresh air alleviating the stale moments of an ordinary day never finding their way to a page outside my thoughts, never connecting to anything around me in sight or form, just there, dousing my imagination with a fresh array of moments when I would otherwise be given over to the drabby old nonsense of a worldly adventure I’ve never been on. So why think such things? To which I answer why not, they’re there wanting to be thought. Wanting to be recognized and unsynthesized among the tawdry events of uncaring arrangements where I would manipulate the meanings into something other than they are, looking to expound on their simplicity instead of letting them flow so freely as the effortless configurations they become.
I think of them as gifts to an otherwise weary mind who is inundated with a flood of concerns. Only capable of following a few at a time, if left undistracted. Trying to balance the lack of understanding and the abilities to grip the momentous seconds of keeping good thoughts where would otherwise be hopelessness; sending well wishes and silent prayers to those for whom I think about and the situations where my mind ends up stuck in a dark corner. They come to me on their own, lighting a path of redemption to a brighter place, in unrehearsed meditations regardless of where I am or whom I’m with or what events may be happening around me then slip silently into the recesses of my mind leaving only small crumbs for me to later plunk out on a keyboard in appreciation of their visits; thankful that I have them. Yes I know it won’t make sense to anyone but myself but that is one of my loves. One of the places where my wholehearted admiration goes to in an otherwise witless world. Being gifted a few words to which I cannot record in any moment to later rethink and enjoy. Grateful for their visitation, mindful of their designations, incomparable to the litany of literature round about me.
So to them, thank you. You are appreciated for what you are. A babbling brook of refreshment to where I refresh all thoughts.
Jade Jaspers
