My bones are definitely creaking more than they were 20 years ago in places I never knew existed. However, this morning when I took Humphrey into the garden, my spirits were lifted by the bright sunshine, by the above, and I felt one less creak. What is it about the weather and the time of year that impacts us so much? For me, this has included my writing mojo. It seems that Algernon, my inner critic, loves and feeds off the dank, yuck weather, sapping all confidence from my creative, creaking bones. I know I could go down the rabbit 🐇 hole and search out all the research on shorter days, lack of sunlight, reduced socialising, etc., but the head rabbit has put up the sandbags and serious flood defences, and I have no chance of accessing the library.
As I sit here writing this post, the sun has decided an hour’s work was enough, disappeared, and the rain has returned. Here in the UK, the weather has been unpredictable in temperatures, but not in dankness and greyness. The ground is sodden, the rivers swollen, and the mud plentiful.
I will not be beaten by the sun going on strike yet again and taking away my good mood. Putting my coat on to take Humphrey out this morning, it was a pleasure not to be accompanied by the usual thoughts of getting wet, cold and covered in mud. The one thing you can guarantee in this house is that Humphrey wakes up full of the new day, bouncing like a rubber ball. Mildred literally growls and can even snarl when told its time to get up. She is the most vocal dog I know, using her barks, growls and paws to let you know what mood she’s in. She will snarl then get up, shake and is happy again. My mood in the morning is halfway between the two.
Standing at the top of the garden as Humphrey charged around after his ball, I soaked in the brief spring atmosphere and actually smiled. I listened for the birds, then realised they were not singing. Two red kites were swirling overhead, hunting for whatever smaller bird may be stupid enough to put its head above the branch to become prey. Red kites are relatively new in our area in the great scheme of things, only since 2009-ish. However, they have steadily increased in numbers, and a couple of pairs breed nearby. When others pass through, or a field is ploughed, you can see up to 20 overhead, a stunning sight.
Failing to see or hear any birds, I looked around at the daffodils standing proud, their buds waiting for the first warmth as they have for the last couple of weeks. We have Narcissus, snowdrops, and primroses flowering at the same time. Whilst I realise this is possible, the numbers seem out of kilter.
My writing station inside the house has moved and now looks out over the garden from my spare room/my son’s room. I will be able to see the changing weather as we move towards Spring. I am hoping my new writing station will give me the kick up the a#&£e I need to get me writing again. Watch out, Algernon, I’m coming after you to kick you back into the corner.
I will stop my waffling now, leave you in peace and take Humphrey out in the rain and mud.
Prompts
Think of two positives to winter? Write on paragraph on each one
What is the worst part of winter? Why and can you turn it into a positive?
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Seasonal changes seem to affect motivation more than people expect, especially when creativity is involved. Energy often returns in small moments rather than dramatic bursts, almost quietly rebuilding itself in the background. A shift in environment can sometimes change momentum more than effort alone. There’s something comforting about noticing those brief lifts in mood and following them where they lead. Hoping the new writing spot keeps working its magic.
We've been in Spain for a month (we did it last winter for the first time) and it's been so nice to walk around in the sunshine and feel warm. Back to Blighty tomorrow, so bracing ourselves for the cold. How lovely to look over your garden as spring appears and I'm sure that will inspire you to write Jo. Have a good week and fingers crossed for some bright, sunny days 😎 😘