Branching streams

A breeze cools my face ..a candle flickers ..a bell rings to keep my mind from wandering .. like a stream that branches in different directions ..there's a thousand and one things rattling around up there ..not one of them worth writing about. Why don’t I feel like there’s anything worth writing about ? Nothing seems entertaining enough ..or clever enough. It all seems like a bunch of boring crap you find in a junk drawer ..images of someone I haven’t seen since 2001 ..remnants of a failed relationship I’m still trying to fix. Even now, I’m trying to improve a conversation that I had the night before. What sense does that make? I wonder what’s in me that makes me do that ? Maybe if I rummage around long enough I’ll find something interesting ..a key that unlocks a door ..a door that leads to a more enlightened place. You know, maybe it’s OK being a junk drawer ..or a branching stream ..because it’s becoming a real strain trying to keep what I am moving down a straight path all the time. I’m always afraid of miscalculating ..taking the wrong step ..and looking like the fool that I am. In fact, I think I’m more afraid of that than I am falling off a cliff.