The discipline of distilling something into a rigid form heightens and sharpens the thing you are working with.
This morning I was our for a run and one of my turns took me through a quiet path that connects the street full of orange cones and construction vehicles to a pedestrian crossing over the Light Rail tracks. I'd been through here many times but this time was different. The oleander that lined the east side of the path was in full pink bloom and while the sky to my back was cloudy, the sky in front was a cloud-free deep blue, even without tinted sunglasses.
The contrast between the striking still blue of lapis and the floating, pale pink, between the vast and solid skies and relatively tiny star-like floating flowers struck me hard. If I had had my iPhone with me, I would have made a photo, but I didn't, so I made a memory another way. I wrote a haiku, a poem with 5 syllables on the first line, 7 on the second and 5 again on the third.
Profusion of pink
oleander against wide
open cobalt sky
Sometimes collecting our scattered momentary insights into a compact, rigid form gives them an architecture for sharing the experience.