Wordfish

Sometimes I feel words stirring below the surface of my mind, little word minnows darting about, seeking to join together into sentences and paragraphs.

Now and then a phrase jumps out, flashing silvery in the wan mind-light, before splashing down and wriggling under the surface again, leaving rippling rings of thought and inspiration.

Over time, the fish will either die off, from lack of attention-food, or grow more and more active, until the thought-pool froths with painful, furious activity, a school of words leaping out of the pool, yearning for freedom.

I feel the imperative – I must trawl this word-bounty before it escapes.

Feverishly I scoop the word fishes up and gobble them down, transforming them into words on paper or into electrons, memorializing their life in swirls and sigils.

Spawn and swim, little word-fish. I am grateful.

Photograph of a man fishing with his two children
My dad, me and my sister, and my mother’s thumb

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