I’m not sure why my writing flows better on cloudy days than when the sky is blue. What should be dismal, depressive weather seems to inspire me.
In 1985-86, while a student at Berea College, I enjoyed the cloudier days, not just for writing. I hiked the hillsides behind the soccer fields or the trails near Pinnacle Mountain whenever I was fortunate to get a ride.
The overcast skies provide a veil of protection, offering enough isolation for me to dip into my thoughts while seeking understanding and resolution for questions I might be mulling over. My thought processes tend to search for deeper meaning, greater understanding, when the sun is absent. This might better explain why I enjoy late fall and the dead of winter, as the skies tend to be cloudier.
Wintertime often keeps us indoors. During my teenage years, when I wasn’t outdoors looking for cocoons, I was in my room, writing and deep in thought. As a teenager, I held so many questions for why family members behave the way they do. Some years later, I understand some folks better than I did in my youth. Some I’ve never figured out, and perhaps that’s one of the unsolved mysteries each of us get confronted with. Certain folks are unreadable, and they might not even understand why they act in unexplainable manners. That’s just the way they’re wired. Eventually, I had to accept that and move on.
During cloudy days and even rainy days, the splendid colors of nature are different than when the sun casts its light upon the various surfaces. The next chance you get, go experience this firsthand. While others long for the sunny days, I thrive during the glorious grays of the sky. The gates to my creativity fling open, and who knows? Maybe my writing is better during this time because I’m painting a different landscape with words where my mind takes me. Whatever the reason, I enjoy the journey, cloudy days or not.
Blessings to each of you. Until next time …
