Fallow - left unseeded for a period of time after plowing in order to recover natural fertility - is a word I have a distinct memory of learning the meaning of - an elementary school classroom, a vocabulary list from a unit on agriculture, a new concept, newly named. It wasn't until later that I heard it applied to personal times of rest and now that is way I most often use it. My cycle of creativity doesn't always align with seasonal cycles but often a time of productivity and harvest or exhibit will be followed by a pause in studio work to regroup.
My mother remembers me spending days creating worlds in my closet - leading her to think I would be a creative genius - followed by a day of watching four Elvis Presley movies back-to-back - leading her to think my brain was turning to jello! Now my fallow times are full enough of house and land tending, reading, walks and cooking. Activities that function as cover crops for me - enhancing the soil, providing depleted nutrients.
This fallow time I am writing more, trying to quiet my mind so I can glimpse something I perceive to be there - around some psychic corner. I am making a conscious effort to remain unseeded, waiting for natural fertility and growth, knowing it will come if not in what form. I am courting clarity of direction from the fog of possibility not directly by working but indirectly by clearing space and waiting.