Dare I write that I don't feel like writing?
It is cold and windy and the sky is a little blue, but my creative impulses feel trapped beneath an icy, snow-covered landscape.
I am dreaming of gardening in spring.
There are silences in the diaries. This is a silence of inner doldrums.
I am craving inspiration and I am craving spring, and still, it is cold and white and winter. The diaries wait too.