I haven’t come to this particular page in months and I as we head toward the end of this year, I’m getting excited about turning the page for a fresh start.

Some may think that isolation is good for a writer. Isn’t it easier to imagine a mental scene without any distractions? In normal times, I’d say yes, but these are not normal times. Now that I have an abundance of time, my imagination seems to have dried up. Without being able to people watch, create snippets of what if’s, or be swept up in life affirming activities, there’s an absence of the necessary stimulation needed to get the neurons sparking.

But I still come to the page of the book I’m writing as faithfully as ever, writing pages, then going back and re-writing, and going back and re-writing, trying to dig for emotional responses that have been buried beneath layers of inactivity and boredom, and revive senses numbed by living in an insulated world.

But with every walk I take with the dog, I am breathing in the cold wintery air, moving at a brisk pace, making my limbs sing. I listen to the caw of the crows flying overhead, and connect again with the world around me. With each Christmas CD I listen to in the car, I am awakening to the spirit of the season: love is blossoming in my heart, and gratitude for all I I have continues to expand. Life is good, family is important, friends keep us tethered and grounded, and it’s a great time to be alive.

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