A Long Winter

 

Wolf Moon

first of the year

the wild things are restless

cold

 

Hunger Moon

second of the year

food stores are low

lean

 

Death Moon

third of the year

bare ground exposed, cupboards laid bare

empty

 

In this sheltered

modern life

we sit protected from the cycles

seasons

 

Buffered

cocooned and disconnected

immune to the dangers of the moons

the rhythms of life

 

we are safe

from feeling cold

inside we are safe from feeling

alive

Wolf Moon

(Not what the lake looks like now.)

 I'm struggling to write these days. The ideas are sluggish or non-existent. My first book is away with a professional editor and I am waiting to hear back. I'll be waiting for at least a month. The sequel is fighting with me and I haven't written anything substantial since December. January was lost to Covid. The whole month and then some. 

And now it is February.

The horizon is opening up again. Snow is thinking about melting. I have new feedback from a Beta Reader on my first book that I'm itching to put into motion, but I'm also conflicted about waiting to hear back from my editor first. I started reading again.

That's a big one. I hadn't read a whole, proper book yet this year which is wild for me. I usually read 4-10 books a month and all of January passed without a single book. I was existing in a state of mental suspension. Going through the motions of living without actually progressing in life at all. Seasonal depression + Covid brain. Not a fun combination. 

But in the past two weeks I have read two books and my brain is starting to sputter back to life. There may be too much exhaust and the check engine light is definitely on, but we're getting somewhere.