I was aghast when I discovered that I hadn't published a February post.
It would be easy to blame the omission on the long winter's extremely cold weather. Or the depressingly short days and long, dark nights. Or even blame it on the imminent dread that Punxsutawney Phil would predict six more weeks of continued, bitter winter.
Truth be told, I don't know why I forgot to post to this blog on February 1st.
But this is March 1st. A new month. Time for a new topic to be posted.
Winter has curmudgeonly relented enough to give above freezing days with the sunshine delightfully radiating through my windows. Both boost and invigorate my spirits.
The sun has even managed to burn off the deep snow. Only the exposed ground of dead grass and crushed, wet leaves is not a pleasant view. It's a stark reminder that spring isn't here yet.
If you've managed to wade through the above paragraphs, you might wonder what all this expounding on weather has to do with writing or the lack of writing.
Absolutely everything.
You see weather affects mood, and—
Mood affects the impulse to create, and—
As if it were bipolar, the impulse to create runs from fickle nonexistence to manic effervescence.
The winter's frigid days has me bundling up—a stocking cap, two acrylic-wool sweaters (one with a high turtleneck collar), open-fingered mittens, fleece-lined pants, and a blanket-fleece lap robe over my knees. The clothing enables me to sit in front of my computer to plod away at the writing and the other activities of being a member of varied organizations (secretary, newsletter editor, sender of notices of meetings, blogger, etc.) At such times, an Eskimo has more dexterity than I.
The furnace, of course, blasted out hot air to keep the house temperature at sixty-seven degrees warm (it always feels like thirty-two degrees).
The urge, in such a state of overdress is to leave the office nook, get under the electric blanket (set it on high heat), and sip something hot. Which means my body's survival needs work to override my creative need for expression.
In case you've never seen me post it, I'll repeat the fact that logic always trumps creativity.
Thinking positive, that spring will come or that the days are lengthening and warming, doesn't help. After all, the ground is currently frozen solid, and today's wind blasts its arctic chill.
And yet, at the corner of my walkway, hope raises its green tips. The snowdrops, the first flowers of spring, defy the elements. Today, I ventured outside and checked for them. Joy! Their tiny green leaves have pierced the soil half an inch. And deep between the shoots are white flower buds. It will be days, many days, before they open, but they will open.
Each bud also means the dreary mood of winter yields to the blossoming joy that warms the fingers over the keyboard. The imagination perks up, as if signaled to go ahead and create a new story. Creativity-life renews.
Does spring and sunshine invigorate your writing mood?
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