Unanswered

Cruising along at 66mph, rain-streaked letters on the rear window of a passing van, their intent obscured by the recent storm. An overactive imagination suggests that maybe they were in reverse--scrawled from the other side of the pane. Morbid thoughts of a desperate plea for help replace the frivolous image of "wash me" spelled in dust. Van speeds away; questions remain.

Is it prudence or cowardice that fails to give chase?

Just a tinge

I wouldn't so much call it humor, more like a slight edge of whimsy. Whatever the name, I prefer my writing to have a certain lightness to it. However, when life seems a bit too humorless, such writing becomes difficult. Writing, for me, is less a didactic pursuit than one of self-fulfillment. It provides some structure to my often circular thinking and helps convey things that my poor oratory skills render impossible. But, mostly, I write because I enjoy the process. I entertain myself with the idea that it's a reflection of a better self, one I can carefully craft to sound exactly as I wish. Of course, its nice to imagine I'm pondering deep thoughts, but really, its more important to simply be able to look back at what I've said and smile. When I've nothing happy to write about, at least, perhaps, I can find some amusement in how I've writ it.