Got back yesterday from a whirlwind weekend in Michigan, where we visited our adorable daughter the summer camp counselor and spent a day hiking and loafing at Sleeping Bear Dunes, which looks like a leftover piece of Australia that got inserted into Michigan by mistake. We didn't see any sleeping bears (or waking bears either), but we saw a lot of sand. A lot of sand and a lot of wind and a lot of water. Just saying it sounds soothing: sand, wind, and water, a vacation in three words.
This morning I've been trying to work through a rough spot in my writing but I lack motivation. The previous section was a joy to write and the next one should be equally interesting, but the current section is just one long, hard slog through mud up to my elbows. Occasionally I get a glimpse of a distant oasis, a high, dry refuge full of sand, wind, and water. I'll get there someday and today's mud will be a distant memory. For now, though, the only way to get past this rough spot is to thrash my way right on through.