Towards a Grand Idea

The morning seemed unreal, too perfect in a way - the waking river where small boats ignited like candles on being lit by first light and where a cormorant dived into a blazing sun. And here, where a certain magic began to find its way into the great, glowing bulk of a passing ship towing its fiery wake down river towards a grand idea that was forming in a corner of the mind. I should have left it there in the unspoken margins of the morning, to gather and let it warm, as cormorants do by stretching out their wings to catch the sun. I was too impatient and fell back into where all things are restrained within their own space and have a name.