I have no drafts.

The cupboard is bare.

Absolutely no story drafts, As bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, Opportunity to clean bare draft cupboard, Swept up crumbs of stray thoughts and outlandish ideas, Clean as can be, No thoughts not a jot no plots even ridiculous ones, Just this frustratingly antiseptically clean mental cupboard, Thoughtful vacuum.

Nature abhors vacuums, Within my thoughtless realm appeared idea shining brightly, Why not write about Mother Hubbard’s cupboard?

Old Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard.

Old Mother Hubbard, English-language nursery rhyme, First published version as “The Comic Adventures of Old Mother Hubbard and her Dog” attributed to Sarah Martin (1768–1826) and associated with cottage in Yealmpton Devon.

First stanza begins: “Old Mother Hubbard Went to the Cupboard, To give the poor Dog a bone; When she came there, The Cupboard was bare, And so the poor Dog had none.”.

It’s a brave poet who ventures into origins but being daring young fellow, Nursery rhyme seems to have evolved from Shakespearean times.

Knew from early childhood about Hubbard’s cupboard, Grandparents especially applied it to us lazy sods in hope of exhorting greater effort in doing chores and homework lest we end up like poor old dog.

Rhyme intrigues me, Until today’s confrontation with metaphorical empty draft cupboard I’ve not thought of Hubbard’s cupboard since childhood, Amazing what our associative memory does with its decades old unused memory cues.

Helps to picture our memory as complex songline, We walk through mind’s landscape, Following paths between events, We celebrate each event with timeless song known only to inner heart.

Blessed be.