The ‘ol blog has been a dry gully these past few months. You may have thought it was abandoned. Yet, the river of posts has flowed freely in my head, even if the overflow has not spilled out onto the keyboard, onto the screen, for your weary eyes to read when you should be writing that TPS Report for the boss man or boss lady (I support equal opportunity for jerky bosses here).
Today, I was compelled to begin again, not only by two persistent voices, but by the symbolism of the freshly fallen snow. I sent my baby brother off in a taxi to return to the states, and while I was reflecting on the days prior, the snow began falling. Sort of a misty mix at first, and then the big fluffy flakes floated down, bundling together to blanket the muck of leaves and mud. The drought is over. I have much to write about. Life-changing trips of the past two months (yes, I took them with the most brilliant people I know!), runs and training progress (no, I didn’t give up!), upcoming holiday projects (you know I’m rolling up my sleeves to get my craft on), observances of the seemingly mundane (chiggers are just the start), food I cooked (I’m feeling a need for cinnamon rolls right now).
In similar circumstances, I might be feeling a bit sad now. My trips are complete, the long cold winter is ahead, the blog has not been maintained like I planned. Instead, another S word comes to mind for how I feel. Sanguine.