Just So You Know, The Daffodils Will Bloom Again


Two weeks of “writers block”, a creative slow down.

My lack of clarity and questioning myself has led me to believe that what I have to say is not valuable.

A lack of fuel and experience with feelings of indifference and monotony.

The end of fall bringing forth early evenings that signify the beginning of long periods of harsh loneliness and cold feet.

The air is brisk and the trees that were a blaze a few weeks ago have been stripped to nothing just like the paper in front of me.

Grief always finds a crack in my armor when the days get shorter and learning to brace myself has only gotten me so far.

Eric asks me to go on a Sunday drive and I am too tired to put up a fight.

I figure this may be the closest I get to being swept off my feet into the sunset.

So, what the hell.

I refuse to put on makeup and make him promise not to tease me.

Scouts honor.

He is a good man.

He makes it easy to stay quiet when I feel the urge to push him away.

Slow and steady.

Just like how he approaches the turns as we head up the canyon.

Around every bend the dead leaves have been replaced by blankets of snow, the thermostat dropping as we climb higher and higher.

It’s beautiful. I want to deny it but instead I let the silence fill in the blanks.

The frozen lake presents itself as we approach Hayden’s Peak and I feel the fear loosening its grip.

Last time I saw Mirror Lake was on the tail end of summer when my skin was still golden and adventure was still within reach.

Today it stands in front of me a frozen, lifeless fortress.

I’ve been looking back again.

The cold nips at my skin through the mesh on my pants as I walk towards it and I don’t mind.

Suddenly, I want to feel everything in this moment.

The present is real.

Winter will come and go.

The daffodils will bloom again.