In my rather pensive moments (which seem to happen more and more frequently with each passing year), I occasionally lament over all the stories that will never be written.
When I'm walking down the street and two squirrels begin chattering and chasing each other, I can't help but think, "Now that's a great starting point for a children's book."
And when I drive or ride in the car, I muse about the people in the vehicles around me. Aren't they all vessels filled to the brim with story "kernels"?
At cemetaries (especially very old ones), I see each grave site as the resting place for a lifetime of stories.
Sadly, most of the stories in the world will simply vanish into nothingness before they can be ensnared by poets, authors, singers, artists and storytellers. There can be no way of putting all of life's magical and mundane moments in jars to shelve them until they can be told.
They are simply gone.
Consequently, I spend a large part of each day trying to be more observant. I fill scraps of paper with ideas that may or may not turn into essays, blog postings, articles and stories. Someday, a few of them will be written. The rest will return to dust.
On this Monday morning, I encourage you to open your eyes, ears and heart to the world around you.
Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, you'll capture a story or two that otherwise would have floated away, undiscovered.