I want to write about the arrival of spring to the desert because I have two photos that are conducive to the theme. But, honestly, it’s not the subject matter I want to fall into; if it were, I would have started writing a few hours ago when I first sat down in front of them. Instead, I’ve been busy doing nothing meaningful. I suppose that begs the question, what is meaningful? Is a time for stagnation important? I’d have to say yes, and this would be backed up by what we witness elsewhere, such as during the seasons when certain species enjoy downtime. Maybe it’s hibernation, or it could be characterized as dormancy or quiescence. Regarding my current situation, I’d say I’m in a state of quiescence: while I’m able to be active mentally and creatively, the condition of my headspace is preventing it. I can equate where my mind is with where these bees are emerging from after existing in a hive-level period of inactivity due to the cold of winter.

That has me considering the synchronistic nature of the appearance of the flowers of the saguaro cactus. Timed with the end of near-freezing nights, they send out their blossoms when pollinators, such as these bees, can race from the hive as temperatures rise and aid the cacti in their reproductive cycle. This typically occurs in April, so when the monsoons of the desert arrive, the offspring of these giants might have a chance of survival. In this sense, I should relax and understand that after a prolonged period of intense intellectual activity, I must allow the field of my mind to lie fallow until the next burst of creative energy, my linguistic nectar, if you will, is ready for harvest.

My winter of not-writing began at the end of March; quiescence took over. I can already see the conditions where I will surface again, although the hue of my output will be tinted by the need to plant thoughts and impressions arising from the experiences popping out of our vacation. Jumping in here on my blog, wanting to write something about spring, feels like a fever dream, reminding me of what I’ve left behind and what I’m yet to reawaken to. Meanwhile, I’ll try to abide by my time, accepting that now is not when I return with great revelations and cascades of deep thought for which I yearn. Today is not the day I blossom.