It’s one of those days. I don’t want to write. Over the past week or two, my writing volume has dropped. A lot. My morning pages have gone from 3 pages to 2 to maybe 1 or even just 1/2 page. I’m not feeling motivated AT ALL. I feel like I don’t have anything I want to say or to explore. I’m sitting here right now, listening to the rain falling outside, wondering how it can be Tuesday already, and searching for something to write about.
I could write about school pictures. We just got ours back and after an initial, “Wow! I don’t have as much grey as I thought!” I am now convinced that the photo people must have altered my photo. In the picture my hair, which in real life is liberally streaked with grey, is brown. I think they may have also decreased the depth of the divot between my brows. It’s the one day a year that I blow dry my hair and wear make-up, but I know that can’t have made this big of a difference. Oddly, I’m a bit disgruntled about this. I did not ask to be altered!
I could write about hearing the barred owls at night. How their cries echo into our room and pull us from sleep. How we whisper to each other, “Did you hear that?” I could describe the quiet hush that cocoons us as we strain to hear another call. How we listen for them and I imagine their powerful wings pumping through the night, weaving through the trees. How their calls fade and we drift back off to sleep.
I could write about how I fell in love… with a pitchfork at a garage sale. I was entranced with the old wooden handle, thick and time-worn. I was fascinated by the lines of it, the feel of the wood in my hand, the thoughts of how many people had used it through the years. I put it down, but kept returning to it until finally I asked, “How much for this?” Then, as my husband shook his head, I bought it. I still have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but it really is beautiful–at least to me.
I could write about any of these or about the colors of fall emerging or about photographing a green heron or about so many other things…but the rain is still falling and I can’t settle on any one thing. I still feel restless, unsettled, unmotivated. But I did write a slice. Sort of. And for tonight, I guess that will have to be enough.