Rusted. And a Little Wrinkly.

Winter annually sends me into fits of creative despair and inaction...a hibernation, really, of creative energy. Every year, I lament it, as if I had no idea that it was coming. When will I learn? I find myself stuck in the same cycle of anti-creativity year after year after year, like if I ignore the signs, the ground won't freeze.

And every year, I sit at my kitchen table, in the patch of sunlight that rests there for a couple of hours a day, reading of other people's inspiration and creation and wonder why I'm not inspired and creating. Then I beat myself up for sitting in the sun patch looking at other people's work and not doing my own and I find myself in an endless cycle of inactivity and self-flagellation and I eat some chocolate because its a mood lifter! Like an anti-depressant!

Bring on the endorphins! Aaah!

I know what I should do. I should make like a polar bear and dig a deep cave and stay there, sleepily waiting for spring to call. I should be living off the fat of last autumn's harvest and conserving my energy for the awakening that is simmering beneath the frozen landscape. I should be hibernating and dreaming of the warm sun that will begin to defrost the tundra of my creativity in another month or so.

I should rest and be patient and gentle with myself.

The tender green shoots will start peeking out of the hard earth soon. I need to be ready.