Some people say I say too much; some say I say too little. Not really. No one has really said, I say too little. Most people might want to hear more, but they don't say it. In fact, I have a person who says, why do I blog? She is not into blogging and why should I? I say to each their own. I don't expect her to read my blogs and if she doesn't like blogs, she doesn't have to read it. I am content. I don't write for her.
Words sometimes flow like a broken faucet. Depending on how much I have to say, they flow and flow and flow. They go flowing down forming a puddle, which overflows into a little river, curling around little leaves which rise up carried by the water. These in turn crash against tall blades of grass forming a little dam, but no matter. There is no way to stop the flow forever. The flow carries little twigs which float sometimes twirling, while little ants struggle till these cease their fight, either to succumb to the flow or stop stoicly until the flow ceases and they rest again. The words come until, I'm done. Done with telling my story. Today is one of those days.