While driving to pick up my daughter from work, I found my self studying the clouds. They bloomed upward into a brilliant blue sky and glowed with pink highlights from the setting sun. They looked almost solid, not like a collection of water vapour.
That got me thinking -- how often do I catch myself describing what I see?
Sitting in the mall, waiting for the kids to finish browsing in Electronics Boutique -- I scan the people who pass by and take note of shape, clothing, eyes, hair. I try to imagine what they're thinking.
Sights, sounds, smells... they're all translated into words. I don't just have feelings anymore. They must break out into prose. The internal words flow over me like a breeze. I don't write them down, I just hope that I'll recall them later.
Does this phenomenon strike all writers? Am I making any sense?