Inspiration can manifests itself in strange ways. Occasionally it hits like an excited child running smack bang into me at school pick-up time. Other times it is a slow persistent idea creeping, crowbarring its way into my consciousness when I meditate, dragging me back to the surface so I have to write it down.
But I like the lemmings best. Little creatures that pop up, sniff the air; alert yet eager. Unsure and tentative, they dart erratically around my mind, an impossible curiosity driving them on. Pictures often form before words, yet a reality exists inside these concepts, and my inner lemmings as dogged as ever, zip in and out of the scenes, eager to find the connections.
It’s only January, but my lemmings have a busy year ahead.