A Soft Start

I stare through the window at the bare branches of our maple tree. After much denial, I accept, in my gut, that winter has banished summer to the realm of memories. A soft and muted inner voice repeats, “Time to start writing. You can do it. Time to start writing. You ...”
I inch my way to the study, sit at the computer desk, and stare at the screen. My mind wanders. I procrastinate, read an article on the European debt crisis, and then check out what's new at the Google app store. Finally, resigned, I click on the Open Office icon. My fingers fight back. They feel stiff, uncoordinated. I force them to the keys. Finally, a few words appear onto the screen.
I feel better now.