It has been a while. I long while, in fact. Hasn’t that been the experience of the past year? A very L-O-N-G year. But I am not going to wax on and on about the state of affairs under the rule of Covid-19. I am ready to be through this part of my growth. Handling a pandemic requires a new set of skills, a new sense of community, (even in isolation from said community), and a deep inner wellspring of hope.
What I am going to speak of is the beauty that still surrounds us. The energy of the morning, as it breaks free of the edge of darkness, and gives us a reason to embrace what can be. Each new day…or I am, at least, going to give it a good try.
It is hard~ some days. My reasons are different than yours. I don’t make light of the struggle, for it is a reality through all of this. We have lost, we have mourned, and we have grown frightened in ways we never imagined.
I was torn from writing, not by illness, but from despair. This is when I should be writing, but I didn’t. That is what everyone says: write through the pain, the desperate, the heartache. But that just didn’t work for me. I felt the loss of any desire to express myself, or to engage. I was just…done with writing.
I might be the only writer feeling this way. I envy those that spill forth story during the rough times. How cathartic it must be! How freeing to dump the anguish out on a page. I have lots of excuses. The ‘other’ job took too much of ‘me’, the constant pain of earache from a chronic issue was intolerable, the training of a new puppy was just TOO much, a disgusting invasion of critters in our attic that left me cringing, or the barrage of the…news.
Storm blasted us last night ~whipping palm fronds across the windows, with rainfall driven like a battalion of nail-guns slammed the roof. We had to remind ourselves it was NOT hurricane season. Sleep was intermittent, especially with restless dogs wanting out, and then, not. While half the country, including family and friends, were living through treacherous winter storms; we were experiencing a deafening storm of our own.
But this morning, a new gift again. A new day. Creamy clouds~ puffs of undulating cotton~ competed with stretches of achingly beautiful blue sky. And today, I wanted to write. Finally.
It is 2021, world! There is hope for change, hope for vaccine, hope for a semblance of ‘normal’. The antics of a feisty, but lovable goldendoodle puppy bring more smiles, than impatience. The pest guy came yesterday, to seal up the attic, trap the varmints, and soon, a new roof will be placed upon our humble abode. It all seems good, ya’ know? And soon, I will be able to hug my kids, my grandkids, my friends again. You will, too. That seems quite a celebratory event on our horizon. Just like my morning sun.
And I am grateful.