Reluctant Drip - Eventual Flow (296)

To drip is nothing but a slow, discontinuous, singularity of congregation. A forming, subtle and succinct. Cohesion of a droplet, releasing itself from a permanence. One by one, ker plunking into a sink of used dishes. Even from a room away, it makes its presence heard. Tap, tap, tapping into our brains, the incessant need to clean up. To load the washer and empty the plunge.

These drips seem to appear from the ether. Unprovoked. Yet the result of a leaky faucet. They slowly, if left to their own devices, become a trickle. A steadiness, an eagerness to multiply and congregate. A cleansing process. A stream, a flow, and eventually rapids. With each bombardment on smooth, glistening rock- an idea, an image, a soundbite.

They cling, like day old remnants on porcelain, yet they also vanish with a drop of dish soap. Scattering into the suds. A quick bubble of hope here. A lathering expulsion there. A reluctant drip becomes a foamy manifestation of creativity. 

Drip, drip, drip. Clink, clink, clink. The pipes are not bursting. The conduit runs dry at times. Then somehow, a conveyance, a channel a sprout- inspiration.

Follow the drips, for eventually they combine into streams- both cursive and brimming. 

They shape the landscape. Eroding and depositing. They teem and sweep. They open the floodgates. 

A reluctant drip becomes cautious circumspect, and it will evolve into courageous rapines. Some days we need to listen for the dribbles. Listen for the plop, trill, and splash of cleverness.

Allow the flow to rage. The raft to bobble. The imagination to paddle. It will certainly take you places.