Yesterday, I found daffodils pushing up through the soil, so near to bloom-time. Today, it is snowing. Yesterday, my child was peaceful and calm. Today, he is a raging torrent of scarlet-gray energy. And so, I take deep breaths. I watch the snow drift down and try to count the flakes. A crow’s cawing unlocks something in my soul. Tells me, you will get through this day as you have gotten through so many others.
I’m waiting for spring. My spirit needs the warmth, birdsong, flowers, electric green everything. Inspiration is at an all-time low. A new work project is keeping me motivated. It helps to have something concrete to focus on; a project with potential to continue for many years. A project that could be the start of something. A new direction. A purpose. It’s a relief to type someone else’s words for once, at a time when my own are hard to find. And it is comforting, to hold a diary written by a fellow human being around 150 years ago. Yet, even as I decipher the fancy cursive writing and type the last entry of the month, my heart wants to hold a pen and write my own poems in a notebook. But where is my muse?
When I finish my transcription work for the day, I gather poems and submit them. I tell myself this is an important part of the process. Inspiration won’t always be with me, but if I want to take my writing seriously, I have to keep taking steps. It isn’t enough to just write. I must get my work out into the world. This seems like a beneficial thing to do on a day when I just want to walk out the door and never come back. A small, positive action to counteract the dark fog around me lately.
Waiting for Spring
Oh I love how you compared the muse to spring! I've felt like this lately. I push myself to write but it's lacking a spirit that I feel is usually there
I sympathize with you so much. Sometimes our ideas are simmering below the surface, but we are unaware of them. The daily work keeps the brew cooking, and one day it will be perfect and ready to taste. Keep the faith!