It’s High Summer in the South, hot hot hot, sultry all night, not a breath of cool in the dawn breeze, but the grasses are growing verdant in the heavy rains and my brain is growing heavy, un-purged of its burden of thought and memory.
There’s yet much that needs to be written, much to twist into truer shapes, and little time to live in that world. I’m moving toward carving out some space for it, but when that will happen and when new words will appear in this magical space it’s hard to say.
I have a new practice that is helping greatly to clear my mind of the trash that accumulates, and gradually clearing my life of obstacles to the actual writing. Perhaps it will happen soon. I’m feeling drawn to the story, motivated to get back to work on it.
No promises. Intention is growing. Gravid.