rejectomorph

Big swaths of sky are starless. Clouds have returned. It might not be long before the first rains of autumn arrive. I've been so uninspired of late, my thoughts as dry and harsh as the brown grass in the fields. Rain might replenish my imagination as it does the soil. I weary of sitting here, looking at the blank space, writing nothing, as my mind wanders through random fragments of memory, unable to seize upon anything that can be made into a coherent post. Some change is due. Some ass needs kicked. Some kink needs worked out. I don't know that rain would help, but it can't hurt. Unless it's a rain of fire and brimstone, of course. At this point, though, even that might be a welcome change.