Write while the heat is in you — Henry David Thoreau

This is so true! Some days when I get up in the morning, there’s already a poem, all lines fully formed in the cauldron of my subconscious, from myriad impressions garnered through the day or the week, while I (the conscious mind) slept.

Sometimes it is an idea waiting to be developed into a story or an addendum to a book on self-help that I plan to publish someday. So what’s common about them ? They melt away like mist in the light of the sun, as the day progresses and time flies in immediate, daily chores. Elusive, beautiful, short-lived butterflies !

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