A Space to Touch the Earth

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I have dried up, creatively, so it seems.

My pen remains idle, nestled against my also unused journal. I wipe the dust away.

The cursor blinks repetitively on my computer screen. I sit and try to think and form and create.

Nothing.

Annoying. Monotonous cursor. I feel defeated and turn my computer off.

Again.

I seek out a book. I have loads of them scattered around my room, on my nightstand, in my office, on my bookshelf. Bright. Colorful. Lovely. I open one, put it down. I open another, nothing seems to catch my attention.

I am dry.

Dried up.

Ancient paper. Crispy.

My meandering days of wringing out meaning from words have left me, so it seems.

Strange.

The pandemic goes on, and yet there is hope now, sunshine settling in the bones, a light. A vaccine. Death rates down.

And yet, my creativity has gone.

So it seems….

Until the stirring. I fidget, walk, pace. What is calling me? I look down at the earth. You?

I am moved to gather a handful of earth and roll it in my hands. What is dry, yields to oils in my skin; I can now squish my hands in the earth.

It was a Saturday. Random. Sunny. Warm. Lovely.

The earth called. She wanted me back. Where had I been? She needed me.

I bent down, gardening gloves off, and touched the dirt. Tentatively at first. She felt foreign.

Who are you?

Who have I become without you?

I sat and began pulling the weeds. The sun massaged my tired shoulders and a sweet dewiness settled in.

Clip, pull, snap. Weeds extracted; flowers uncovered. Bugs moving. Blood moving.

Thorns gone. Roses revealed.

Aching arms. Bloody hands touching the earth. Digging with fingernails. How delightfully dirty they have become. Ground in mud, stained green nails. Stained skin. Dirty; delightfully dirty.

A shifting.

Fluid. Movement. Meandering heart.

I breathe and laugh at the delightful earthiness of my hands.

I turn to face the sun and feel her hands on my face. Child of mine, you are back.

I sit down and write. Finally.

Creativity uncovered. Fragile…but there, with the sunflowers, forever welcoming me home.