Ideas float around the mind like snowflakes in a wintry sky. They are individual, beautiful, or at least have the potential to become so, if they are around long enough to be noticed. Sometimes, the volume is overwhelming, and yet everywhere is silent with the hush of the snow. I wait in anticipation; will it stick, and shall I enjoy the purity of new scenery? Or will the snowflakes dissolve, as if they never existed? Perhaps, if I am quick, I can salvage a handful and roll them into a ball, which will evolve and build characters or weapons to throw? Or will my warmth and enthusiasm melt them, before they have a chance to solidify? I brace the biting cold, because the potential is too beautiful to ignore. And then I return to my cosy kitchen, to revive myself with steaming coffee and the hope that more snow will fall again soon.
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