I admit it, I talk to myself.  Many years of solitude have fed this habit. Occasionally, to my chagrin and embarrassment, people catch me doing it.

Brain chatter is something we all live with, but when it begins to reverberate via the spoken word on surrounding walls with no human receptor in sight, it can appear somewhat eccentric. For me, like doodling, talking out loud clarifies my thoughts and reinforces my memories. It's something I do privately but occasionally I slip up and forget that someone might be around with big Ferrengi ears.

It happened the other night when I went for a quiet swim at dusk. A wondrous experience, I was caressed by cool water and a darkening sky. A few extremely quiet birds tumbled strangely above me. They flew funny; darted about north, south, east, west within what seemed like the confines of invisible spaces.

After closer scrutiny, I realized that they were small bats, hopefully feasting on the millions of mosquitoes already heading with missile accuracy towards my bobbing head.  My mind started its usual rocky ride of associations, imagining multiples of Frank Langella projecting, in unison, his vampire baritone, "I love New York, especially in the evening".  

My head was racing as I began to compose a ditty about what I was seeing.
"Little Draculas in the sky."  

My partner heard me through the screen door and asked  who I was talking to about Dracula. A throaty nervous laugh prefaced my words:

"You heard that?  Wella, I wasa, talking to myself."

I told him about the bats above and how they got me thinking about Dracula. Luckily, he is used to my thinking out loud. 

I was writing a poem in my head and didn't want to forget it, but I did and decided instead to draw  little Dracula bats. 

Maybe there's a painting in there somewhere... 

...especially in the evening.