…is this week’s theme prompt on Luminous Traces Collective. It also prompted me to check this space and discover that I had not posted a new post in almost 6 weeks, which might be more of a case of me failing words, or at least doing a disservice to the word side of the twin tigers this blog was created to serve.
I confess, I haven’t had much to write about here. I have, however, been creating a lot of images, between the weekly LT theme shoots, and the twice weekly shoots I have been doing for The Vermont Farmers Market, from which I am taking my usual summer break as a vendor. This frees me up to be a roving documenter of everything I used to be too busy behind my own table of wares to enjoy and capture. If you want to see some really cool photos of fruits and vegetables and the people who provide them to my community, check out the VFM Facebook page.
But back to my wordlessness. Maybe I have only so much creative energy to give. It’s happened before that one of my passionate pursuits languishes while I attend to another. Or maybe it’s not about quantity of attention but quality – or variety. I’ve started to think visually by default. The spark of an idea or emotion that once ignited a poem or post now bypasses that unlit heap of language and goes right for the visual kindling. I used to grab my pen and write about whatever urgent subject matter refused to leave me alone. Just try to stop me. I never left the house without pen and paper. Now I have some sort of camera with me at all times, and whatever I’m thinking or feeling informs and infiltrates whatever I am photographing.
But I owe this space and its small but select and much appreciated following some kind of update. So here it is, a month late. I still haven’t found the ideal job or the love of my life, or fully reclaimed my former fitness of body, brightness of mind, or lightness of heart. Progress has been slow or lacking in all areas of life, which may be part of why I haven’t been around lately. When days are all the same, time both drags and slips away. When there’s no good news, or even promising prospects to report, I fall silent. Consider yourselves spared my mopes, which have finally become so redundant as to not even inspire – or deserve – being written about.
But I’m still here. Still writing about not writing. Maybe my words and I have not failed each other after all.