To me, this is spontaneous and filled with pure play. I like it. If you don't know where you are going or what to expect, how can anything be "wrong"?
There are no rules, no dictates, no screaming "shoulds," no ceilings and no limits.
I have always been drawn to stream-of-consciousness writing. It amazes me what comes from this very free form of writing, and I love reading books that are written in this format. Because I know that there are many folks who are driven mad by stream of consciousness, I will not go in that direction at least.
But just where will I go? In a topsy-turvy week, my deadline (or "finish line," as my friend Sherry prefers to call it) has come and gone in a blur of commitments that pulled me away from not only the writing but any thinking about it. Usually, it seems there is a plethora of column ideas floating around in my busy mind — until now.
I need to get on that train and just go where it takes me. In the moment, (and what a great place that is to be) this conjures up all sorts of strange things: memories of past trips on trains and other conveyances; the whistle of trains in the canyon running below my grandparents' home when I was a child; walking along train tracks on idle summer days.
Ah, the empty stretches of idle childhood summer days. Is this where I'm heading?
Back then, blackberry juice dripped down scratched forearms as the sweet taste on my tongue brought a grin of pure joy. Crows circled in raucous merriment overhead while I went tramping through the dry, dusty orange grove, the sweat streaming down my face and not caring. I savored the sweet taste of yet another fresh treat as I broke open a juicy orange from one of the low-hanging branches.