It’s Friday, and I have struggled to write anything of substance this week from that deep place where I usually find words. Sometimes they spill out of me and I couldn’t stop them if I tried and sometimes I go seeking and nothing comes.

I’ve tried all my tricks: A quiet house after the children are asleep. A soft spot in bed with my laptop on my knees. Half a glass of wine warming my insides and a slow, easy song in my ears.

I type a sentence and backspace. I type a paragraph, then delete. Nothing sits right against the white screen. The cursor blinks at me impatiently and I have… nothing.  I still need to learn that not everything on my heart wants or needs to be captured.

I’m constantly trying to tie it all down. To wrap up my thoughts in nice packages the length of a blog post or a journal page. I claim no credit for being a good one, but I have identified as a writer since I was able to use a pencil. It is a source of great pleasure and a platform for reflection for me.  Years of free therapy exist at this web address.

But this week, nothing sticks. It is all flying free. Loose in my heart, out the window it blows. Sometimes my thoughts are a quiet snow, but often a blizzard. And I’m laughing now that I’ve managed to write a full post about my inability to write.

The wine must be working.

Brent snapped these photos of Everly and I on Wednesday. I can’t stop looking at them. I suppose that I don’t need words this week because these pictures say enough.

Wishing you a lovely weekend.