Yesterday, I gathered my knee pad, gloves, and garden tools and set out to dig in the dirt. With a mind to battling weeds and plot holes, I crawled under one of the dwarf apple trees. A regiment of weeds had settled in during the winter.
Weeding is one of those chores I do on autopilot, which frees up my mind to wander where it may. Normally, it wanders into the book I’m writing and combs through plot and character tangles.
Yesterday, however, it didn’t wander that far. Across the road I heard the bleat of new lambs, the drone of a neighbour’s lawnmower, the sputter of a chainsaw. Overhead, birdsong competed with the distant clang of metal as someone worked on farm machinery.
These are sounds I hadn’t missed until I heard them again—sounds of spring and the promise of summer. It reminded me how fortunate I am to live in the countryside. I’m grateful I’m able to enjoy it.
After a few hours of weeding, I felt refreshed, recharged. I’m now ready to tackle James, a character who is causing no end of trouble in the next Gift Legacy installment.
Is anyone else hearing the sound of spring?
Now . . . back to writing!
