I love to ramble, with words or with my feet.
Some days I love to walk in the sunshine and be swept away by memory and haunted by thoughts of a future that may or may not play out. Other days I like to roam inside, when the gloom and wind of the day have trapped me and there is nought to do but explore the rooms inside my mind; discovering cobwebs that need dusting away, a precious brass lamp of a forgotten moment remembered, or a floor that needs washing with a few tears.
Lonely days might leave me wanting someone to fall in beside me on my looping way back to the start, or might leave me content with the emptiness of being by myself inside.
To ramble is to just be. To let your feet or your pen decide where you go next.
To ramble is the gift of letting yourself be without purpose just for a little while. The destination is the journey itself. It is a capsule of just being exactly where you are with no pressure or expectation of what might be next.
It is to let every step, every letter, be felt, to be in that moment entirely.
It is to live without examining for a few breaths.
To escape the anxiety of what you cannot control or decide.
To ramble is just to be.
To ramble is to be free.
Go where the wind or the words take you.
Find pretty moments and words and wind them around your fingertips and in your hair.
Just be for a little while.
I am out there too in that un-momentous moment.
Revelling in the rare and precious beauty of every breath.
There I go again, just off rambling...