Days, weeks, months pass. I keep thinking I should write something. Not just thinking I should, but really wanting to. And yet, summer has turned to fall and soon enough it will be winter, but again and again I find myself staring at the blank page, thinking about things, but not really moved to write.
The cooking has ebbed and flowed. Some nights it's been tacos to go, other nights it's been home baked bread, black eyed peas and slow-cooked greens. It's all been perfect in its own way, but I haven't felt inspired to write about any of it.
There has been a crazy amount of zucchini and gorgeous tomatoes from the garden. One of the coolest things I have experienced in a long time has been growing my own food, and doing it with the one I love. It seems like a simple thing but it feels pretty monumental. The simple and yet monumental experience of growing food and enjoying it and sharing it is what has been getting me through all the things that I don't feel like writing about.
A couple of nights ago, these radishes that were climbing out of the soil felt like salvation.
I don't know what tomorrow will hold or when I will kick my own ass into movement again, and I hate how whiny I sound, but there it is. Fortunately, the garden still grows no matter how uninspired I feel, because I haven't gotten so out of touch that I fail to pay attention to it. The radishes are still growing and so is the chard and the beets and the carrots, and for now, that's enough for me.