This would be a beautiful morning were it in November and were we not in the world we are now in. The snow is falling thick and white out of a grey sky onto a brown world. The pond is black and shivering. Yes, there are buds, and, yes, there are tips of daffodils and a brilliant purple star of a crocus in the front yard.
But the darkness prevails. As we all know, the darkness is internal. The light, when it comes, will be internal too.
I have not been able to upload new photos into my blog posts. WordPress tells me I have a “New Home” in which I can “learn and grow.” I don’t want someone else to decide when and how I should learn and grow and whether I need a new home. As trivial as this is in the grand scheme of things, this change is the last thing I want to deal with right now. So I have not been posting. But I think of you, dear reader, with concern.
As writers we have two obligations, I think: one is to write what is, and the other is to write what could be. It’s a delicate balance these days as we try to acknowledge what is and not get mired down in it. We do have to keep one eye on that little purple star, which is at present huddled into itself against the cold.