There are some days when the writing needs to wait. My mood may not be right, my children might be sick, a client could need to speak to me; whatever it is, the actual act of sitting down to the computer is temporarily put on hold.
This morning it was the fog. Thick, soupy, cloying; it matched my thoughts. And I had to disappear into the recesses of its curtains, if only to feel the touch of something on my skin.
These moments, this indulgence, it returns me to nature and redeems my soul. I step away from the everyday and quietly become one with a higher vibration. I don’t need to think in terms of SEO, re-tweetability, audience interest, or the likelihood of something being liked or shared. All I have to do is listen to the twitter of (real) birds, or the trickle of a stream. I can reach out to touch damp bark or smell the heady scent of moldering leaves trapped under rock-strewn paths. My senses come alive in the twilight edges of real life, far away from keyboards, cell phones, ping backs, and time.
But as the fog burns off, I return. There are emails to respond to, updates to post, and pics to share. The mist thins, but so too does the pall that clung to my soul. Funny how breathing in a little cool air refreshes an outlook. It works every time.