I overheard a small, fair, curly-haired boy of about four as he raced around and back to his father in the supermarket yesterday. ‘My heart is hurting’, he said, out of breath.
I thought it would make a great starting line for a poem or a story. Note to self: always keep a notebook handy. You never know when a lovely phrase is going to literally hurtle towards you and make you trip over it. This weekend, my heart is hurting on behalf of someone else, and perhaps that’s why the sentence bowled up at my feet. It will be recycled, as so often is the way with creative ideas, maybe into some writing, maybe into a painting. Who knows.