I’m not sure where my creative voice is these days. I suspect it is just winter and time for rest and I try not to be anxious that I have lost her forever, but anxiousness comes easily. So I attempt writing, I attempt stitching, I attempt other things. Others seem to understand their path better than I, but I still try to keep going through the winter quiet (and not so quiet).
As soon as I typed those words, the winter sun shone through the kitchen window as if to reassure me, I am comforted. Simple but enough to quiet my anxiousness.