My stats are going down, which means not as many people these days read my posts as they used to. I can't blame you, I have been negligent about writing them. It was a packed full Christmas season, complete with a geographical move. We won't even talk about the stress of having to move animals.
So, something seems to instill in me some kind of winter lethargy when it comes time to write. My fingers aren't particularly cold; the rest of me is, but not the hands. No, my brain and spirit seems to have taken to hibernation. I live in the mountains, and it does usually get cold here in the winter time. Well, it used to, before global warming. But I have spent some winters outside all day, or in a cold barn, and you do get used to it.
No, my creative juices seem to have frozen, like sap in a tree. I have been away from the fields and the earth, too. I think that has a great deal to do with it. I do love the new life in the city. Don't get me wrong. But I miss inspiration...
I do get more sunlight, now. And the unicorn meat eating cats are happy.
But it is the time for somnolence, in a cold land. In the very, very old days, there would have been large farm animals in the next room to keep me warm. I am stuck with very small, albeit, furry bodies. Lap warmers. Hugging a horse is much warmer. But, at least I am not into gerbils or hamsters. Or year round fleas.
I have a cat tucked under my arm to keep that side warm, and sometimes Max, the dog, wants to snuggle on the other side. Perhaps it's the personal chaos that disconcerts me: unpacked boxes surround me. I did unpack one kitchen box yesterday, and I was as pleased as all get out. It's not that I am a perfectionist when it comes to my surroundings. But sloppiness gets to me. It un-enervates me.
But there have been worse personal winters, and I will not freeze or go hungry, as others will. I have my babies, and a man I love. I have a new apartment to decorate. Like the trees in the distance, I wait for Spring.