WEEKLY WRITER'S PATH #34Sitting in the cold open window at One-World Coffee next to the railroad tracks. Beside me: a row full of dead and dying geraniums. Exception: an adventurous branch has grown up under the table lampshade and sprouts frilly green leaves there, hidden and secret.
So many of us hide from the sun, preferring artificial light to nourish us. It’s safer that way, no one disturbs us, no one compares us to other hothouse varieties. But is it healthy?
I started my weekly writer’s blog nine months ago and the impending one-year anniversary has me wanting to hide from the sun, maybe you’ve noticed. I’ve missed a few weeks, inspiration seems to be lacking. I feel as colorless as our yard. The Maximillion daisies have lost their bloom and are bending in the cold wind. They were brown stalks in my first essay, and they are soon to become brown stalks again.
The landscape has that stillness that foreshadows what we all are waiting for—snow. The leaking outdoor faucet has been fixed, the hose rolled up, even the worm beds will get their winter jacket of leaves soon. The grasses have seeded, and a new plum tree has been planted and watered for the last time. Now there is nothing but to wait.
Walking Asher out to the bus in the morning, the ground is wet from the rain. Sometimes the neighbors’ houses are hidden in the fog. We use our ears instead of our eyes to cross the street. I’m using my ears instead of my eyes in other ways, too. Listening for the universe to say, “OK, I agree, you’re ready. Here’s that 3-book contract. Can you get started right away?”
The universe is difficult to hear. Hard to distinguish that small but sturdy voice from all the other loud and gaudy ones. But I did hear it a week ago.
My mother-in-law gifted us some money and was wiring it to our bank. It was a much needed and appreciated gift, and I planned to update all our bills chart and accounts as well as balance the budget. But I kept putting it off. I didn’t want to figure out money until I had some. I ignored the voice—more of a feeling, really, a sense—that told me as soon as I did the budget, the money would come.
A 24-hour transfer took days. Strange occurrences and delays happened. All the while I ignored the voice, until one day I said out loud, “OK, I’m doing the bills!” It took three hours to catch up, file papers, search for stamps, retrieve online passwords. About a half hour before I was done, I said, again out loud, “OK, I’m almost done with the bills! One more transaction!” I finished at 3:30 pm. “I’m done! I’m filing the papers now!” Thirty minutes later the gift appeared in our bank account.
So, my preference is to hide, wait till I’m discovered, write when I want and what I want. But my instinct says, “Have that new idea for a series of books set in Santa Fe ready. Pick some more agents to try DIZZY with. Follow up on those editing jobs.”Like that Thundercloud plum tree we planted ten days ago, my roots are just starting to feel the dark earth beyond the pot.
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Above: Ron and Colin plant the plum tree.
