Filling a writer's well can mean different things. It's winter here in NC. In more ways than one.
As plants, flowers, trees, and some animals lay dormant or hibernate, they are, in fact, preparing to pop once the sun's warmth signals spring. Remaining still in their "beds," they're gathering nutrients, strength, and conserving energy for their moment of rebirth.
This winter, I'm filling notebooks with dribs and drabs. Nothing coherent to the reader, just ... stuff. I can't find my muse, but I've got a good hold on thoughts, ideas, words, a jumble of mixed and matched scenes and places.
When I'm not at work, I've decided to rest. Read. Watch a few movies. Old and new. Also, pray. Pray for inspiration. Guidance. And Believe. Believe that I'm just in flux. That old will become new and that eventually, spring will come to us all.
There is peace in winter's landscape. A soft pattern of frost and fog fills and smears itself across the fields around my house. Shadows are long. Huge, bare trees stand guard over it all. It's quiet. A few birds gather at the feeder. There's no vegetation to speak of. Only the chill of the season. It pulls the covers over itself and whispers to me in the mornings, I'm going to sleep a while longer.
I've decided to be patient with myself. Fill this well of mine and get through the chill. I'll thaw with the landscape, I think. Winter will eventually end, but until it does ... I'll just make a few more notes, watch a movie, read a book, try not to worry so much. That might take the edge off.
Blessings to you and yours.