Wanting to write, intending to write, finding it difficult to write! I keep telling myself that social isolation is the perfect opportunity to write!
An old writers' adage warns us to keep working, even when inspiration is in short supply; just keep working, and allow the words to flow. And yet... I'm distracted by the upheaval in our world. It's important to be there for friends and family who reach out, and I need the contact as well. Even introverts are not immune to the effects of obligatory solitude, and I'm no exception. Simply being unable to hop in the car and go for a drive weighs on my mind and, while I'm grateful for so much - my home, food, security, and pleasant surroundings - I'm aware of how much we humans value personal liberty, how easily a vague feeling of cabin fever can begin to nibble at the edges of consciousness if we allow it space.
The freedom to wander beneath the trees and listen to birdsong, to watch in wonder as flocks of black cockatoos wheel overhead , even when the skies open in soggy protest at the waning of autumn - these moments become infinitely precious as my personal world shrinks to a couple of square kilometres. My heart aches for those confined to one room, for prisoners, the sick, the refugees, the aged and infirm. Aware of the suffering of others, I name my own unease, put it in perspective, square my shoulders, and jot down these thoughts as a portal through which I can return to work.
Just as this plague besetting the world will eventually pass, so will the sun re-emerge as it did the other day during my afternoon walk. I was fortunate to capture the moment it shone through the fronds of the palm trees, and, as I share this image with you to brighten your day, perhaps it may light the way as I struggle with Chapter 4 of the final book in the trilogy!
