Nightglow Window

Mind The Bridge

My prayer is a paper airplane sent into a blue sky.

Don't know where that came from -- or what it means exactly -- but there it was when I sat down, ready for the page. Now it seems too vaguely portentous (perhaps just vaguely pretentious?) to erase out of hand.

Writing can be like that. How many times has the first three paragraphs appeared, complete and ready for the page, after a night of sleep or two hours spent letting the subconscious muse gnaw at the problem?

Or you get random drivel like that first sentence above.

The evening is spent watching Bridge To Terabithia at a La Costa theater. When the big story hook arrives (I won't give it away here), the girls are shocked and hunker down in their seats stock still.

A debate rages in the car afterwards about why it happened and whether anyone was "to blame." I tried to explain that sometimes the rope just breaks and it's nobody's fault, but it's an awfully harsh lesson on how random life can be sometimes.