Fallow

I attended an inspiring writing workshop recently that overflowed with creative ideas, and as people began sharing their work, I posted a link to my own blog.

Then I thought: “I wonder when I last wrote on my blog?” So I visited my home page.

I last posted in January 2022, and I had written about the books I had read in 2021.

Not too surprising, because in January, my mother, who lived with me then, began to deteriorate bit by bit until she died four months later.

As the end of her life began to take up more space, I managed to find time to write; fragments here, spillover there, emotional downloads on random sheets of paper. Since her death, I’ve written the bulk of a memoir. But for the past 10 months, I shelved my public writing self.

In the world connected by bits and bytes, a ten-month hiatus is an eternity, one a “real” blogger might never recover from. But even the most connected of us can benefit from taking a break. Farmers sometimes allow fields to lie fallow, plowing under the past season’s planting and leaving the soil bare. This allows plants to decompose and provides a richer soil for next year’s crops.

So my blog lay fallow for 10 months. And now it’s back. And in many ways, six months after my mother’s death, I am starting to feel the first shoots of new growth peering from the soil of sorrow.

And, amazingly, I wrote a poem called “Fallow” almost two years ago, not knowing that it would feel so right to share two years later. Enjoy.

Spirit lies fallow.

Dun-colored dust,

Laid bare to wind and rain,

Appearing

To be nothing.

Beneath the surface,

Cracks where roots grew.

Above, once-green plants

Withering,

Turned to brown.

The elements dance

Through the days,

While I sit and watch,

Gathering

Sun, wind, rain.

Until one day,

Tender shoots of spirit

Rise above the fertile soil,

Welcoming

A new life.