It’s just an empty nest in a maple tree that has been visible all winter. Occasionally it was mounded with freshly fallen snow, sometimes coated with freezing rain—cold and uninviting. That vacant nest signified fledglings now matured and flown. The haven of possibility now barren.
The scene bore a marked resemblance to the writing area of my mind. My latest fledgling grown, matured and in print, the creative nest sitting cold and bare for several months now. Oh, the winter activity blustered and blew around it. The death of my brother, my cousin and three other close acquaintances just amplified the barrenness of this season in my life and the stark emptiness of the nest that once cradled creativity. The frigid snow attempted to cover and beautify it, but no life stirred inside.
Then came the warm days of last week—the pungent aromas of spring in the air, the snow melting like a piece of chocolate on the warm tongue of the sun-drenched earth, the first tips of daffodils peeking through the mulch in the flowerbed. They reminded me of the recent day I spoke to a group of precious women eager to learn and stretch their boundaries. Two came afterward to tell me how they had grown in self-understanding through reading my books. That affirmation, like the sun with the daffodils, pushed the pregnant bulb of creativity within me to stretch toward the light.
From the daffodils, my eyes travelled upward to the maple. The still-bare branches continued to support that same nest, but something was different. In my mind, instead of emptiness, I saw great potential—almost as if the nest was sporting a sign “Available for Immediate Occupancy.” That nest and my mind seemed suddenly to be wide open to new possibilities. The winter has ended My heart is filled with longing to once more hatch ideas that stir within me—the desire to see a whole new nest full of inspirational stories and writing is waiting to be given wings.