Its been a while since I wrote anything. My garden has kept me busy and the early spring flowers and myriad spring birds have kept me well entertained and kept my thoughts away from my blog.

 

Perhaps blogging, like hibernating, is a seasonal thing. As bears enter their dens, I enter my wordpress site. My mind curls up in defence against the dark and what thoughts there are, be they sporadic and fleeting like a half frozen stream, or roaring like the Nith and Kent in full flood combined, they get committed to bits and bytes.

 

There are other activities in my, and indeed any other, life, which are seasonal. Seed sowing is for springtime. Lawn-mowing is for spring, summer and autumn. Holidays are best taken in the summer. Roaring bonfires are usually enjoyed as winter approaches. Curling up by a hot fire with a warm drink and a book is a joy on cold days, and sipping something over ice while lounging in the garden is best when the sun is high and threatening to wither your lawn.

 

So it stands to reason, in my mind at least, that writing can be seasonal too.  Different things spur different people to write. For me, writing is cathartic, it enables me, along with several other tools,  to work through the dark days when daylight is at its most fleeting.  Its a piece of my armour. And some, which can hold my armour together, gets shared on my blog whilst other pieces, which might prove armour-piercing, get deleted.

 

I have one – or a few – pieces of writing that I composed over the winter with the intent of publishing them later. It was an exercise in restraint, identifying things which might cause hurt rather than give help, and then putting such things to one side. I still don’t know if I will ever actually publish them. Much of my writing, especially anything controversial, is contextual, inspired by friends or by events in the media. Publishing some of it would be irrelevant, now. Writing things that no-one would see is then, perhaps, also a reflection of winter.

 

My blog will likely be idle for weeks at a time, now. I will write when something burns at my fingertips to be shared. Or I will save up stories and thoughts in a summer-made memory, to be used as the light fades again. But I ask, faithful readers, stay with me. As the seasons roll, I will return.

 

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