All is quiet here.

I've been moving from one city to the next. And while each change in scenery is welcomed, I cannot help but feel that the weather is following me; pinning me under its spell. A lonesome grip held by the chilled and dampened grey.

I long for the rising of the sun, even just to remind me that it's real. To awake the frozen skin I'm covered in; to reveal the colours of the earth, hidden in plain sight, gone unnoticed without illumination. 

I had hoped that leaving the country would open up the doors to inspiration and revive this deadened piece of me. Instead I still feel underneath it all. Buried deep under some weight I cannot name, apart from even the comfort of words. (My words, that is.) I've found there is no easy stream of language overtaking me. I'm met with silence, growing ever more disturbing to my heart.

The quietness of the land does little to comfort me. What should bring a soft relaxation brings rather a raw desperation. I find I cannot open my mouth to speak here; each sound echoing in this valley. 

And while beauty surrounds me down every bend, it too is burdened by the stillness and the grey. I feel that it longs, as I do, to come alive.

S. 

{Photo via: We Heart It}