musings from the lost box

musing on writing and unearthed truths therein, i came to the rabbit hole and tumbled down, sinking slowly on a bubble of questions. to what extent do profound thoughts rattle around at the back of your head, unnoticed among the marbles, and then pop out of their own accord when you least expect it,as though some puppet master has pulled a string or turned a key to open a secret door behind which lurk these half-formed notions which tumble out semi-formed and disguised by pretty words and metaphors? Always my thoughts shimmer as a mirage on the horizon, while i scrabble at the gravel, striving to reach them, grab them, shake them into speaking their entire meaning to me, but only ever ending up with hands of soil and stone, empty words for which the toil was worthless and from which the meaning has turned tail and fled - a fox fleeing the hounds of inquiry, and leaving nothing but fast-fading footprints in owlet's down mingled with dust in the corridors of the mind.