Unfortunately, as I sit down to write, I am stuck. I am stuck on the fact that the words aren’t coming after a day of work. I am stuck in a streak of gloomy weather. What is making you feel stuck? If you choose to take up the challenge, please add a pingback to this prompt.
Today, the words are not flowing as smoothly as they have the past few days. I know I should give myself a break to work things out, to find more words, to write something inspiring or inspired. But today, I am stuck.
When my children were young, they would always beg to go outside and play in the snow. They were little, and the snow was deep, but somehow, that made it more fun. At least in the anticipation. They would imagine the fun they could have traipsing through snow that was nearly as deep as they were tall! There were paths to forge and snowmen to be made—so much snow, so little time.
And so, I would patiently pull on snowpants and jackets, mittens and boots, hats and scarvs. I would zip and tuck and tie and buckle until I was content that all three littles would be warm enough even though there was no way to snow-proof them. We would walk out the door and into the winter wonderland.
Less than two minutes in, someone would plow through waist-deep snow out into the middle of the front lawn. And there, far away from Mom’s reach, a boot—that had to be wiggled and shoved onto a foot—would slip right off into the deep snow, leaving a tiny foot exposed to the elements. And Mom would have to trudge through the knee-high snow to rescue said child, dig through the icy cold for the missing boot, and carry boot and child back to the front steps where the two could be reunited.
Now, a mere three minutes into the outdoor romp, the snow was no longer fun, and the children, now cold and snow-coated, would be ready to go back in the house to warm up.
And that, Friends, is the winter stuck-ness I’m feeling.
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