Court and spark

(Sorry, Joni Mitchell) That's how it feels when a story comes to roost after flitting around too high up to hook the imagination the way it must. That feeling barely contained inside your ribs as the idea gestates. A wild conception. Falling in love. The knowledge, filed away, that it is tenuous, fragile--that, if you don't give in to it, it could as easily miscarry. The story a dark, secret gem your hands and heart and (God willing) brain cells hold protectively. May it implant itself deeply enough to grow. May it thrive enough to be born some day.