The Fog

It's not easy being a night owl. The world wants you up early, to bed early. The dog wants you up, now! For every morning starts with a dog walk. While the rest of the world seems asleep, and the coffee is brewing, you find yourself wandering down foggy streets. The dog knows the way, knows what to do. All you can do is try to avoid tripping over the dog, and your own two feet.
You know that far ahead, your wife is briskly walking along, not slowed by the investigative dog.
At least, after all these years, you know the route. Unfortunately, the mind is wandering.
That first blast of coffee and sugar is still in the distance.
Words flow through my mind, thoughts, and phrases. But like an old river, it meanders, flows over its banks, and carves new channels. Sometimes, the flows of thoughts go nowhere, sometimes they erode the banks, revealing nuggets of gold; at times, lumps of coal. Regardless, and out of control, they flow.
Mindless meanderings, every morning.

Wal-mart
A big-box store
Big-box store
another name for a brothel?

a tough row to hoe
A large madam
stuck in the brothel
the town is flooded
no one wants to rescue her
because she is a tough ho to row.

Words split, come together
dissipate
baldness
when hair will diss a pate

So, as the sky lightens, the fog begins to lift from my mind. By the time I am home, coffee poured, the mind begins to wake and I try to remember the wordplay. Most of the time, it is gone, just a fleeting impression that I might have thought of something clever.

Well, tomorrow morning, the thoughts will be back.