Funny how ideas pop up, like dandelions in the middle of a new mown lawn. They are all over the place. Each one valuable, useful and full of promise. And just as pesky.

Odd phrases rise, fade and jump out to startle me awake. The blankets are still nestled around me, lazy filaments of sleep catch at eyelids but I am awake.

At 3 a.m.?

Yep. And the ideas continue to waft across to-do lists, sniggering at my attempts to hunt each one down, dig it up and use it or toss it.

Heard the thought that good ideas float on the wind, teasing and tempting every writer. Some of them take root, producing short stories, novels, articles, editorials, movies and television shows.

The rest?

They serve as compost for the next dry time, seeds buried in the mire of undone possibles. So, today, in another valiant attempt to capture this stuff before it gets way on the wind, I’m writing words.

LongSufferingHusband says programming is like that, or it was for him before retirement. He’d wake up in the middle of night with code sifting through his mind. Sometimes it made sense, sometimes not. But it was code.

This time, for me, it produced a blog post. Later today, got a hunch, it’s part of a short story. Not big enough scope for book-length. Yet.

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