Work (paid and unpaid)... words that ceased to fit my world... that sense of turning inwards (positively and negatively)... shadows in the stillness... have all contrived to take my time and keep me away.
I have long learnt not to fear these fallow times; these times when words dry up... when you pick up a pen and it feels dry and lifeless. For I am dug from a world of ebb and flow; the tide, the sap, the sun's warmth. It is right and proper that those rhythms also pulse deep within me.
These spells are not to be feared - they are a part of us. They make us who we are. It is not as if I rely on words for my living...
No, my need to write is far more important than that.
I write because it reminds me how precious and beautiful it is to breathe.
I write because my heart would explode if I did not.
For awhile I haven't had the heart to open my blog and now that I have, I am touched beyond words (ironically) by the comments I find here.
I know the tide will turn and I will write again, for it feels as if my heart is so heavy with unborn words and with feelings that have no name. I want run up Windmill Hill and to take a broom and write in fire across the skies so that it will rain my heart down upon the woods and fields, and that the winds will find music to those words that lie mute and unformed in my soul.
The nestlings are beginning to flex their wings and I too share their joy of the early summer winds.