The frost has thawed, the blackbirds are cheerful along the Wingecarribee River and I’m brimming with story again. Looking over my shoulder at the equinox, it’s safe to say springtime has arrived. And I didn’t just welcome it, but crashed  into its arms. The past winter hasn’t been so much creatively stagnant as writing-absent – and this, I remind myself every year, is normal. During winter, my muse (seeking warmer climes, no doubt) house-swaps with someone who likes to sew and read, and other such contemplative pastimes.
The writing part of me mostly hibernates during these months. I do write, just nothing that makes me go ‘ZOMG’. A lot of ‘ideas cellaring’ and note-taking happens, but it’s all abstract. It’s like foraging for chestnuts beneath the snow.
For me, writing and walking are connected, and I recognise the impending return of the muse when I crave a long walk. The muse whispers between strides and fellow amblers and bike riders will see me in motion with the pencil to the notebook.
Does anyone else experience this type of seasonal ‘muselessness’? What do you do to combat it? Or do you ride with it and know it’ll come back sooner or later?