I'm convinced daily ritual is nourishment for a writer's soul. Perhaps it's even the tap on the Muse's shoulder. Each morning, on the way to the kitchen, I raise the blinds. It doesn't matter that I'm greeted by the moon instead of the sun. To me, this is morning.
Other daily tasks follow. I make the coffee, feed my dog, put seed in the bird feeder, light a candle in the foyer. By the time the sun casts an orange haze over my back fence, I have a pen in hand and I'm ready to write. Most days the words come, not because I picked up my pen, but because I raised the blinds.
