Ephemera

With extempore, I simply write a sentence with fingers that tap on the white letters that live on the black keys, even though no direction or reason is manifest.

Because there was nothing else to do, she sat near the rail tracks, on a rock lodged in an overgrowth of  weeds, and as if articulating the clinching statement in a tacit argument, held out her arms and faced the sun with eyes closed.

Sometimes I’ll just jot down a few words that seem to take-on a life of their own. It doesn’t matter if they ramble across the folio, as they are well aware that they must wrap it up before the bottom of the sheet is reached or risk slipping off the edge. Others, however, are satisfied to make their statement in no uncertain terms, unafraid of the nothing that dangles below.

Anything else you think you might need to know about me, you’ll just have to invent.

~