From blogging every day a year ago, I find now that I have posted nothing here since last Friday.

I am finding myself largely wordless these days. While it is common for me to be more of a listener in social conversations, it is unusual for my mind to be so wordless. And yet, here I am.

Emerson’s familiar quote comes to mind:

“Life is a train of moods like a string of beads, and as we pass through them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue”.

Is this stormy but wordless mind of mine the result of grief? The dark residue of the dark, cold winter finally passed? Or is it really just a kind of listening?