What looked like a dream, a wish in waiting, maybe not to come true for weeks, suddenly it's real: Spring has arrived with all its sweetness, birdsong, the warmth of sunshine, a gentle breeze in the air, longer evenings with just enough chill to crave a fire and all the tiny blossoms, making the season so desirable.
My daffodils look ready to bloom in a fortnight, tiny bluebells cover the still dormant grass, and the squirrels chase each other up and down the trees.
My impatience has given way to a a calmer joy, a mood elevation I can only blame the season for. My heart is filled with optimism and I feel energy rising again.
Today I met my dear friend, Deirdre Verne, a fellow writer and mother, a woman I admire for her accomplishments. My own dwarf against hers I feel. You can find her fabulous books here and everywhere books are sold. We talked shop and how to build a story line, how to come up with credible characters and how to make it all work. It is always incredibly invigorating to exchange ideas and to brainstorm about writing with her. For weeks now I have struggled with a particular issue, something I have carried around for decades and how to deal with this in my writing. It had come to a point where I felt it crippled my abilities to tell the story and she simply said, do not worry so much, just write it all down, there is much time to change it and you can always edit it out. How little does she know how it has freed me. After we parted my head was spinning with ideas. Perhaps it was the sun, sending her rays over my keyboard, perhaps it was my friend's easy attitude to something which had loomed over me for weeks, but since that moment the inner blockage has disappeared and after I came home I sat down to prep-write. I dropped everything and typed away notes and sentences, which I did not want to loose until I would have time to properly write. When the phone rung, I did not expect anything unusual. But it was my teenage son, asking me where I was. I had overlooked the time and had forgotten to pick him up from school.
Thankfully it takes just a few minutes to get him and I was only ten minutes late. I laughed to myself, this had, as far as I can remember, never happened.
Shall I put an automated reminder in your phone, my son asked me slyly, but not unfriendly when he stepped into the car. Please do so I answered smilingly and he did. Now, if I happen to become entrenched in writing, some friendly reminder will pull me out of my reverie and bring me back to reality.
And now, as I write this, I see outside my window the old Magnolia tree with its long pink blossoms, leafless still, but ready to bloom. I am ready too. How I love spring.
