I can’t wait for spring when the morning chill will burn off as soon as the sun pops over the hill across the street. I count the minutes down each week, noting each minute earlier I can see the sun peek at me over the top. In January my desk, which faces my front room window, didn’t have sunlight until around 9:40 a.m. Today, it was bright by 8:45 a.m.

I am much more inspired to write when the sun is bright and the air is warm. If I have a lovely view to refresh my brain when I’ve been writing diligently all morning, so much the better. Maybe because I was born in the deep South, I am more attuned to the sun’s energizing beams. My blood has never completely warmed to this mid-Atlantic region I live in, all boxed in by hills and mountains, even if it is wonderful for growing gardens. I know, though, that I have a special affinity to water. I was born on the Gulf of Mexico and lived most of my life near an ocean or sea. I have only lived in land-locked areas a few times, including the last eight years.

Yet I still been gifted with water here…

Our land backs up to a wide creek. It is so-designated because it is one mile too short to be called a river. In the middle of a dry summer, some spots in the creek are no deeper than my shins, at least the spots behind our place. With the rains of the past week, the creek has risen and swallowed the base of many trees on our lowest level. That level is very sandy and unsuitable to walk on except during the dry season. But the level above that, which is the level below where our house sits, has a lovely view of the creek. It is also bathed in sunlight from mid-morning until very late in the afternoon, when the hill on the other side of the creek blocks the sun.

This morning while enjoying a little walk along the middle level, I decided to move my small bistro table down there. Usually I write at it sitting on the top level of my backyard and sneak peeks over toward the water. I took my breakfast, my notebook, and my pencil and spent an hour soaking up the sunshine and listening to the water gurgle as it rushes past on its way to the Ohio River. The ambiance was perfect. I got past a difficult scene in my story before the still too cool breezes penetrated my coat and sent me scurrying for my warm house.

I’ll try again in a couple hours. I think I’ve found my happy place, a spot where my mind is at peace so the creativity flows as freely as the creek that passes by it.

Where is your happy place? What inspires you to write your best/favorite things? Share with me. I love hearing your stories.