But that's how I feel.
So much happened for me at the Writer's Conference: things to do with writing but even more than that, things not to do with writing. Things that spoke to those places where remembering hurts; things that I felt pulled toward for reasons beyond my understanding. In truth, a substantial portion of what made that time away so good for me were things that made writing take a backseat. These are things that, while not particularly personal or private, are things that I'm just not ready to share right now. I don't know why.
Like I said, I don't get it. It doesn't make sense to me. But maybe it's because these things are like seeds planted deep in the cool earth, waiting to die and take root; waiting for the proper amount of water and sunlight and time to coax forth life. Slowly green shoots and leaves will push from underneath the ground, and finally one day, bloom.
ravine photo by kirsten.michelle