Having written one blog post my brain has been filling up with ideas and things I want to write about. And yet I don't get there, don't get the words down.
I have just collapsed into bed, propped up on pillows hoping I have enough energy to write something, anything. There is a warm mug of leek and celery soup on the nightstand by my side. I feel like I have been whomped, like I could settle into a puddle in the ground, but it isn't a bad thing. I've done a lot today. I have done a lot the last four days, so perhaps my body needs a rest.
But I also want to find my words. Let's just consider this part of the process of new growth, or spring in East Tennessee. The sun shines, the air grows warm and gentle breezes caress the skin, then the temperature drops and we have icy frost, or torrential rains, or tree-felling winds. I go to sleep only to waken to another gentle clear day. All part of the process. Energy, tiredness, creativity, action, rest. Spring rebirth in the making.
The brain seems to require a lot of energy and I've had more ideas than I've managed actual posts. But I am hoping to manage a few words.
I am surrounded by daffodils and forsythia and spring trees bursting into bloom. These are mostly my neighbors blooms. My daffodils are later varieties, and I live on the shadier side of the street, so most of my plants bloom about a week after my sunnier neighbors, but my yard is not bare. The roses have leafed out, the hellebores have been lush with blossoms for weeks now, as have the camellias. The geraniums are blooming, and I even have my first daffodil. No complaints. No dearth of promises.
I've had my hands in the dirt, digging and clearing the planting beds in the vegetable garden. The sorrel is up, replacing the bed ripped out by an over-eager landscape worker last year. Chervil and arugula are up as well. I got the pea trellis up before the torrential rains and wind, which ripped the trellis up and tossed it across the yard. I'm glad the peas weren't yet on that trellis. I hope to plant them this afternoon. I said that yesterday as well.
I've cleared out the bramble patch (roses and blackberries), after which I needed a nap. I'm still not rushing myself. What gets done will get done in its own time. Nature has her own schedule, and apparently so does my body, independent of what my mind might will. And yet, my energy today is exponentially greater than it was at this same time last year.
I picked up a whole brisket today when I was out shopping. I am planning on curing some corned beef. It has been a couple of years. I might braise one chunk of it to eat while I wait out the brining process. I've not yet decided. The fact that I am feeling more adventurous in the kitchen is a good sign, that not only do I dream but I have the wherewithal to act. Hands in the dirt, playing with thread, playing with words, working until I am actually tired and then allowing myself to rest. These are all signs of growth, of life, of what is important. It is these little things, an hour cleaning out a flower bed, planting seeds, knitting yarn into fabric, making soup -- .these are the things that are fulfilling to me, that make life feel worthwhile.
But my weariness has not abated. Time to surrender to slumber.
