I've written before that ideas are like butterflies. They flitter around and hopefully land on you. When they do, you must watch them carefully and focus on their beauty. Soaking it in. Because within seconds, they're gone.
People I know who write speak of a muse. That illusive thing that taps you on the shoulder and makes you look one way, then forces you to look another. That causes you to pause and reconsider your orientation. How you sit in this world and your focus.
Last night, I wanted to write about a Zac Brown lyric I'd heard. But my beautiful, nine-year-old ADHD son wanted me to listen to quotes from the movie he was watching. Just as the wave of a thought washed over me, he'd scream, "Mom, listen to this." And the thought was gone. The muse an apparition.
I'm not upset about this. My thoughts are my thoughts. Ever-changing and subject to the influx of information and influence. While my sweet baby boy, and his words, need to be embraced in their innocence and honesty.
So I sat down to expound upon a country lyric, but am instead relishing in the interruption that is the beauty of my son's love and life. The thoughts that flitter like butterflies will always be there. Looking for a landing place. But my children's need for my attention will not.