It’s time again.
Last blogging break on Lake Superior Spirit was–hold on a sec, must check–December 29th through January 10th. (Just counted on the fingers. That was thirteen days.)
I would have lasted longer for the epiphany-of-winter blogging break, except for the gall bladderless situation (said organ was removed right before Christmas in a laparoscopic way).
Did. Not. Feel. Well. Finally decided to leap back in to the blogging world because “girls just want to have fun“. Blogging is fun. It makes you forget the discomfort in your gall bladderless area.
And–as we all know–blogging is a miracle medicine! It made me feel better. Provided giggles. Friendship. Entertainment. Excitement. All the usual blogging thrills.
Three months after surgery–March 20th, to be exact–I started feeling well again. Remarkably well. So well that evening would arrive, followed by the thought, “Hey! I didn’t think about the gall bladderless area all day!” Life was returning to normal.
Fast forward to this last week. I have suddenly been longing for silence again. A blogless respite. A blogless vacation. Time off. (But of course–the part of me that loves blogging is scowling and carrying on and whimpering. Therefore you must speak sternly to the part of yourself which would write a blog every day until you die: shhhh, quiet now. We need a break. You’ve had center stage for a while now. The rest of us want to watch the ice melt. The grass grow. It’s just a vacation. Shush, now.)
The blog-lover part tried to subvert the blogless plan. It slyly suggested this morning, “Hey! Here’s your next blog. Let’s go to one of your secret outdoor places and blog about it. Let’s take pictures of the ice melting and the grass re-appearing…and how about your pileated woodpecker skull? C’mon! What else do you have happening today anyway?”
Usually this kind of talk is enough to make one succumb to the creative blogging self. And I almost did.
Drove to the Secret Spot along Lake Superior. The spot hardly anyone knows about. You have to go down a secret hill and walk along secret rocks. It’s a sacred special place…
Except something in me said, “Enough“. Enough sharing. Enough sharing. Enough sharing. Stop moving outward for a while. Move inward. Listen more. Share less. Be quiet. Be quiet. Be quiet…
“But I love to share photos and stories,” I try one last time, but the silence within drowns out my attempts to continue blogging without a break.
OK. The silence wins. I am going to watch the snow melt. The ice melt. To watch the green grass reappear and start to grow. To maybe witness a Spring Beauty blossom emerge from the forest floor. To listen to robins sing before the first light stains the sky. To watch spring come.
How long will I be gone? Now you sound like Barry. He always wants to know whether I’ll be walking up the road or down the road. Where am I going?
I say, “I have no idea, Barry. If something calls me down the road, that’s where I’ll go. Or maybe a chickadee will call up the road, and the feet shall follow her song.”
I’ll be back when the vacation is over. When the blogger decides she’s had enough listening to the grass grow. Maybe in ten days. Maybe in two weeks. Maybe a month.
How can you predict these things?
Hoping you enjoy the green sprouts as they seed and flower in the April of your lives. Hoping you have time to sit upon the earth listening to the grass grow. (In the woods you can really hear the grass grow. It rustles and moves through the cover of dried autumn leaves.)
Hope to see you soon!