Winter draws me in to cosy places armed with journals and pens and thoughts and words.
July 1996, eleven-year-old me sat curled up, cosy, watching the Olympics, dreaming of competing as a gymnast and filling up my journal with hopes and dreams.
The gymnastics dream was left behind only a few years later, but I haven't stopped writing.
So many of my childhood memories involve my journalling.
On the trampoline in the sunshine, or taking notes after climbing the tallest gumtree in our back yard, or scribbling away in the back of the car on long trips.
Mostly though, its the wet, rainy days I remember.
These are the days that spark inspiration to write.
Staring at raindrops making their way in bursts down windows, waiting for the words to come.
This afternoon it rained, heavy. And the softness of my bed drew me in, journal under my arm, pens at the ready, raindrops doing their thing. And I realised that winter is by far void of inspiration; in fact it seeps in all the cracks with it's cold, and births something new.
The way the wet ground hides the seeds and all the promise of spring. The life that is getting ready to burst through.
Cosy, wet days have inspiration bubbling under the surface, ready to tumble it's way out to the cold.
I hope you are staying cosy-warm, and much inspired despite gloomy weather.