Not writing nor reading, just being…
Having seen it’s two months since I last wrote, I thought I owed an explanation for how little I am doing right now. An honest reflection would be nothing or nothing much. Though of course, life ticks on; emptying the dishwasher, cleaning the bathroom and relistening to my favourite audiobooks. I have hardly done anything that makes me “me”. With our accidental homeschool and a resurgence of my fatigue condition, perhaps it is understandable that it has been a quiet patch. But as always happens it gets to the point that I start to want more.
Don’t you find Spring has a renewing energy? After we winter through the dark hours, we emerge. For me, this has meant mainly taking photos of blossom on walks and getting obsessed with having bunches of daffodils. The “jocund company” of Wordsworth’s famed poem “As I wandered…” is not just his joy on coming on ten thousand bright stars of flowers but how that image comes to him again in his solitude. Our appreciation of what is beautiful, is in the way it uplifts us. So yes, though quiet, I can take solace in appreciation of flowers and blossom that blooms.
So, back to short walks outside. My journal for morning pages sits by me on the shelf, and I gain a little courage to unfold from my hibernation. I suppose after all these new years writing about my writing life, I can see creativity comes in these fits and bursts. Life is non-linear. I was revisiting Essentialism and wondering again if any of these folks with self-help books have children to take care of. But still, a small, quiet hello to those who follow my process and a hopeful heart that I can find some more words.