Perhaps when one keeps a blog, there is an expectation to write in it frequently. Or maybe that's an expectation I have for myself. And though my little space in the blogosphere has never been popular or widely read, I come here to share stories and heart ponderings - and used to on a very regular and daily basis. Writing - it's my thing. It's my happy place, my therapy, my coming-home.
Yet I've found myself at a loss for written words lately and I don't really know why.
Something inside of me feels dry. Thirsty even.
We have been desperate for rain lately in my little part of the world. The summer has been dry and brutal and any chance of rain has come in short spurts and showers, not doing much for our parched lands. Storms will be moving in and they literally short out and disappear when met with our dryness. I didn't even know that could happen.
One of those short storms moved in today. I longed for the skies to stay gray and cloudy, for the rain to come back. To let us drink and soak it in.
I think perhaps I'm needing a drink. I need a long soak, a downpour. Apparently, I am thirsting for something.