Nobody’s comin’ to save you,
to save you.
But if somebody’s comin’ to save you,
to save you
Then nobody’s comin’ to save you,
from him.(c) 2022 William S. Friday
Sometimes, I wander through my world, singing. Just to myself. I mostly don’t write it down, because the words are coming off the top of my head as I go about my everyday business, and I don’t stop the song to write it all down, because that will interrupt the flow.
I mean, sometimes I write it down, if I get lucky and I have a pen and paper close by, or maybe my phone. I can tell you when it doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen when the laptop is open and the page is blank, and I’m staring at it like the words should already be there.
Well, there was this one time. Today.
I’ve learned to accept this spontaneous expression, which comes when I expect it the least, as a small, boxed gift without a card attached. As just an anonymous blessing, quickly forgotten. The way I’m told frost comes when it’s cold overnight, then in the morning, it’s gone before you think to take a picture of it.
Also, taking pictures of frost is a tourist thing, and I’m really trying hard to blend in around here.
The song in the quote box, above, is something very much like frost. It was here, then gone, and pretty soon, will be forgotten. The only difference, right here right now? The laptop was open. So what was intended only for me, I now share with you.
But what does a chorus without a backstory or a conclusion mean? It beats the hell out of me. I suppose I could guess. I mean, you could guess if you want to. I pretty much never know what the gift-giver intends, when the gift is delivered.
I just open it, and sing.
So, do you ever experience spontaneous creativity? It doesn’t have to be writing. It could literally be anything. I know I do, with more things than this. What’s yours?
Talk to you tomorrow.