The hopper was filled to the brim with harvest.
The field is now, for all intents and purposes, empty.
It is close cropped.
I can do no more for now.
No will, no wherewithall, no whatmenot.
I am fallow.
The life of a creator is not the only life nor perhaps the most interesting which a man leads. There is a time for play and a time for work, a time for creation and a time for lying fallow. And there is a time, glorious too in its own way, when one scarcely exists, when one is a complete void. I mean when boredom seems the very stuff of life.