Time passes, slips away, recedes right before my very eyes. It’s that time of year again, the time for shoring up, buckling down, tightening up. Winter is on its way, no matter how many warm and sunny days we’ve been having and may yet have. And true to form, to my own internal clock, something in me, the restless, creative drive has begun to curl up, to burrow in, to get all warm and comfy and sleepy. My ideas don’t have the sizzle and spark that they did in spring and summer. My overwhelming zest for life, so powerful that it’s almost frantic at times, has dwindled down. Not because the love has gone, but it has deepened into a solid appreciation, a constant gratitude for what has come about and what may yet be. I can rest on all that I’ve done the past several months, let myself sink into it until the restlessness returns, probably with the first stirrings of spring.