Life wasn’t conducive to writing lately. Being happy usually isn’t. Being busy, and productive, and engaged in the surrounding world draws the words out in morning chit-chat over computer screens, in happy hours with cocktails and friends, in sunset-lit walks by the river where the drama is only in nature and not in you.
But when the workplace talk empties out into crony cliques, friends move or move on, and the drama from nature spills into you, then you know you will turn back to writing again.
In the hopes of changing impassioned sunsets into a peace that might, yet, come.