We've been home a few days now. I lost my blogging rhythm in Maine, lost my running rhythm during the schlep home, and lost my housekeeping rhythm somewhere in the piles of suitcase-crushed clothing that exploded in the moments following our arrival. Okay, okay. I never really had a "housekeeping rhythm", but it's true about the other two things. My mileage is way down, and my words are few.
Every time I sit down to write, I gaze for a few minutes at the photos I took in Maine. Which is a surefire path to verbal paralysis. You'd think that with a thousand pictures (yes. really. that many.) valued at a thousand words a piece, I'd have more than enough to share. But no. Instead I sigh laconically, smile, whisper only one word prayers: wow, thank-you, beautiful, wow.
And it doesn't help that I can barely find 15 minutes a day to write. And that it takes me at least that long to choose just a picture or two to post. I wish I could just jump back in, ya know?
I don't know. Perhaps the only way back to words is to share a few thousand the old fashioned way.
When it's all just too much (and it is, oh, it is), I don't know what to say.
Except to whisper these one-word prayers.