If I Could Wander...

Waiting for the Words

Spring has sprung and my runny, sneezy, red nose is evidence that the elm, cedar, and maple trees are on the edge of new life. I sense their struggle – being on the verge of something, waiting to burst from every limb.

Sitting at my writing desk, surrounded by scribble-filled journals and five Microsoft Word documents open on my computer screen, I can’t quite seem to compose a coherent piece of writing.

A Sampler | Photo by the Author

I’m constantly writing and noting what I notice, capturing words that come to me in moments. I currently have no less than thirteen active notebooks (make that fourteen) and many more stacked in my closet. Each has a purpose – or, in some cases, they have been repurposed. I have countless beginnings and ideas for writing pieces. They come from observations, prompts, and poems. Sometimes words come to me as I walk, shower, or clean – mostly during ordinary moments.

I’ve added tabs to designate sections to some, and most have sticky notes or paper clips to mark something I want to remember as possibly important. I try to keep track of dates and writing prompts that guide my imagination, but I’m inconsistent – and I forgive myself this imperfection.

Yet for the past few weeks, nothing seems to come together. I’m learning that is the reality of creating. It comes when it’s ready, which it not necessarily on my timeline. Once upon a time, I would have fallen into spirals of shame and doubt. But today is different. Today I simply surrender to the flow and ask myself:

If I allowed myself to wander, where would I really want to go?

I would wander out alone. My backpack full of books and pens to read and write. A picnic lunch tucked on top. I would dance and sing out loud because no one is watching.

I would wander to some sort of grandiose tree in the middle of a quiet place and spread my blanket beneath its shade. The squirrels and birds will be chasing and chirping above, settling in to keep me company.

I would sip my coffee from my thermos and snack on berries and cheese. I would simply listen.

First, to the sound of the wind. Then, to the trickle of the stream.

I would listen to my heart and feel the ease of stories whispered there – perhaps to tell, or maybe just to know.

When dandelion seeds silently float by, I would attach my wishes to them as I close my eyes.

Taking out my pen and putting it to paper, the words would flow as if time was endless.

The crow’s caw would startle me back to mysterious shadows and I would know it was time to meander home, wondering where I might wander on the next journey through my imagination

My squirrel wonders | Photo by the Auhor

And so, I wonder where you might wander in the wild winds of spring.

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With loving wishes,

Amy