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April 19, 2022

It’s a gray day today; outside the window looks like November, even though the calendar says spring. Trees are bare–the buds are yet to come. The ground is covered with orangeish-brown leaves–flowers are yet to come, too. The early warblers and phoebes we heard calling yesterday have hunkered down from the rain. Tomorrow must be soon enough to find a mate.

There’s a chill in the air. It called to linger in bed, to sip the warm tea at breakfast slowly, to curl up in a blanket on the couch and read another chapter.

Inside my head is gray, too. My brain hasn’t warmed up for writing yet. Thoughts spin and disappear. “I could write about … no.” “What about … not today.” “Maybe … maybe not.” I force my pencil into putting words on the page, but they’re for exploring, for stretching in preparation, not for sharing.

When Randy suggests running errands I quickly agree, put aside my writer’s notebook, move onto other things.

Errands run, we reverse our route. The air has gradually warmed. The sky has brightened. Here and there are even patches of blue. In a nearby yard I see buds promising to burst into forsythian gold any day. In another spot I see three purple crocus hugging the ground.

The signs of spring are here, waiting to be found. The ideas for writing are too, waiting only for me to lean in close and look.

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One Comment
  1. What a clever format – and such amazing description. Wow! I love how your careful noticing in the morning gray leads to more noticing later in the day. And I notice how time away from the writing leads to more writing. Fantastic post.

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