Inspiration has eluded me lately. I don't feel like writing, which isn't all that surprising when I consider how chaotic I have let my life become.
But when I look at my calendar, I am shocked that I've been avoiding my gardens lately. It is NOT like me. By Memorial Day, I am itching to dig in the soil and bring dirt to life. And here it is, well past July 4th. Many of my annuals are dying in the containers I purchased them in.
What the heck is wrong with me? I wondered as I stared at the barren areas of my neighbor's yard. She already paid me to decorate her yard with my love of color. Guilt nearly consumed me.
And then, the sun came out!
It was as if angels started singing.
I started digging and couldn't stop. My husband caught the fever, too. And together, we created a bed that was perfect for me to fill.
Later that same night, I went to Home Depot. My instinct kicked in and I scooped up plants as fast as I spotted them. My heartbeat picked up pace; my blood pulsed through my body. I was finally inspired.
Those plants quickly made it into their new home. In fact, I ran out of plants and needed, yes...NEEDED more! The next day I went to a local nursery to finish my shopping, dragging my poor 10 year son along.
I worked late into the evening, but got it done. My neighbor now has a new garden to enjoy-as do I!
I can officially call myself inspired now. With minimal planning, I created a garden of love. It will take a year or two for it to be fully grown and beautiful to my standards, but how is that different from my novel? It's not really. It's merely a different expression of creative.
Now, it's back to the novel. I can not let this inspiration go.