I haven’t written a worthy word since my last post. Oh yes, the daily bon mot on Facebook about the weather or somebody’s new grandbaby or political hijinks. But none of that counts.
Late Autumn sucks the very creative life out of me. This artistic death slide starts in October with the anniversary of my husband’s passing; spirals downward through holidays designed for gratitude and joy and wonder but realized in tears and the hollowness that only solitude amongst other people’s families can bring. Finally crashing into the New Year, my birthday, and an opportunity to start all over. Again.
So, I wait … for this season to pass … so I can think, so I can write, so I can feel something other than sadness, and self-pity… and the darkness of winter is finally lifted by the songs of spring.