All this social distancing is doing some right by my creative side. Today I wrote poems and posted them to the scribophille site .
It will help me get back into writing and editing all my stories and everything that is largely lost in cyberspace of my cloud storage. Countless poems, half finished stories, plays , film scripts, bites and pieces of observational dialogue, about life. My soul imprinted in words scattered to the light pages of the virtual world. The stories of my life in memoir form. I believe all writers have such files, or is it a sign of the unorganized person just trying to write words which mean nothing to anyone else?
Words for the self stored in files forgotten as nobody else will read them.
For many months , when the weather is too hot and sticky I find I can’t think to write anything. Yes, I blame the weather for my lack of will. My old laptop overheats and can not be left on for long hours of mindful writing with only a fan to keep cool. The hum of the fan working overtime in the heat wave cooked my battery so now I must work connected to power.
So what have I done since 2019 Winter? That is from May to September in my corner of the world. I live in the southern hemisphere were seasonal change is more spatial, and less defined. The first peoples’ of Australia tell their own stories of those changes in our natural world. I believe we are heading towards the cool dry, although the hot wet muggy nights have lingered on still to remind us of the long hot summer we have had.
Australia burnt for months.
If climate change is real I am sure we see more fires in the future, unless this covid-19 has put a hold on our polluting ways.
II am no climate expert but I can tell you since the grounding of all those jets and the reduction of vehicles on the roads my airways feel better, and I can breath.