I’m a farmer’s daughter. I know the reason for fallow lands. For the need for soil to rest and recover.
But I do not appreciate finding myself in a fallow land. I do not feel as if I’m resting and recovering.
My fallow land is a state of apathy. Lack of inspiration. One grey day following another. Same old same old and no amount of counting my blessings manage to turn the soil.
It’s not that long ago that the wheat in my field stood tall and proud. Golden in the sun. A gentle breeze rustling through the leaves.
Harvest time is a joyous tine.
New thoughts. Ideas. Inspiration.
My mind is a kaleidoscope of colors.
My pen fumbles.
My hand cramps as I desperately try to commit to paper the thought waves running riot.
I have so much to say.
I have so much I want to share.
Those days seem far off now.
The harvest is in.
The land lies fallow.
The colors fade.
The thought waves flat line.
And so you wait.
This too, will pass.
Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash