Random Thoughts on an April Morning

10 Jalal 163 B.E. April 17-18, 2006

For this entry random is defined as chance, accidental, haphazard, arbitrary, casual, unsystematic, hit and miss, or indiscriminate. The intriguing idea about random thoughts that flow in and out of my mind is where they originate. Some of the random thoughts results from something I have read or witnessed. For instance this one - The reason history repeats itself, is that we didn’t listen the first time it spoke. - was generated by a quote I read from Mark Twain. Twain’s quote had to do with history not repeating itself, but rather rhyming.

There are trees, two stone pine trees, an olive tree and an elm, in my front yard and today the wind is blowing, not quite, as bad as it blew Sunday or Monday, but it is blowing hard enough to move the limbs on the trees. Two mated pairs of birds that nest in the trees; one pair of mourning doves and the pair of black birds. The black birds fly around and chase each other while the mourning doves eat olives that fall on the ground. Now getting back to random thoughts, I wonder how different this scene would be if cats could fly. If cats could fly, would they build nest and live in trees like birds.

Speaking of cats flying, I have a small statuette of a cat with wings. It was given my by one of my sisters-in-law for either my birthday or Christmas. I found it the other day and put it on a bookshelf, but I think now I’ll take it off the book case and put by the computer. It would make a nice decoration on the desk, right now the only decoration I have on this desk is an empty glass or crystal candleholder. The Empty Candleholder sounds like a good title for either a piece of flash fiction or a poem. Actually, If Cats Could Fly sounds like a good title as well.

Obviously, my muse is working overtime today. I am coming up with lost of good ideas to write about, now all I have to do is the write. The questions to answer on both those ideas is who, what, when, where, why, and how. You know, I think Rudyard Kipling wrote a poem about those six words called Six Honest Serving Men or something similar.