Many artists analyze, perhaps over-analyze their creative lunar calendars. Count me among briefly, I guess, as I’ve recently been considering my own ebbs and flows. We do this like train conductors, when we sense the steam lagging, when we worry if the coal’s running low. In looking at my writing folders from the past decade, it seems late summer/fall bring a good flow, a bounty. Winter’s pretty good, too. Spring, for some reason, though I tend to feel creative and want to write, is apparently a lull time. The inward seasons, it seems, are better. It’s interesting to consider one’s patterns, though it’s about as valuable as horoscopes. Before I go tracking my poetic productivity or reading my creative star chart, I’d just as soon throw such astral readings in the fire. If I’m going to buy in to some notion of my creativity being tied to the moon or the turning of the earth, then you might as well sell me a subscription to The Muse, and I’ll sit around waiting for lightning bolts or winged fairies to come hand me a glowing quill.