The promise of spring usually brings me out of my brain funk. Over exhausted from over thinking, I stumble out of slumber with hopes of wonderful ideas that might come to me as if by magic. However, after around two months of a winter that just won’t quit, whether it’s storms or just ice and snow that blocks off almost every entry I could have to everyday life, I find myself at an impossible impasse. Where is my creativity hiding? And why doesn’t it want to stay in one place once little pieces of it have emerged?
Seasons are a tricky thing when it comes to my daily barrage through a web of words just waiting to exist. I feel as though every hour finds me in much of the same kind of stagnant mindset and my energy ebbs and flows between hopeless and desperate. I long for the days when the air was fresh and the sun was kind and the winds kept their thoughts to themselves as opposed to raging bitterly against weary bones when they dare to venture out if only to remember in some small way what it’s like to breathe in a refreshing and replenishing breath of what mother nature might have to offer.
But still, my ice prison mocks me. Still, the coldness holds fast with its grudge and locks in my thoughts that wrap around me with their iron fist of worry and spin through a cycle that was at first stuck on repeat for mere minutes but now takes up days that are desperate to see the end of the block in my mind without the change of environment. Not. Quite. Possible.
So here in a winter that is supposed to already have turned to spring days ago, I wait. I make a secret wish that my gratitude for the warmer days, once bold enough to grace me with their presence, will free me from my sickening lack of motivation and inspiration. C’mon, sweet elements. I’m tired. Of being. On pause.