I have stopped blogging daily - my reason?
The answer is given, allegorically, in a poem called Build Soil, by Robert Frost - written in 1932:
...To market 'tis our destiny to go.
But much as in the end we bring for sale there
There is still more we never bring or should bring;
More that should be kept back - the soil for instance
In my opinion, though we both know poets
Who fall all over each other to bring soil
And even subsoil and hardpan to market.
To sell the hay off, let alone the soil,
Is an unpardonable sin in farming.
The moral is, make a late start to market...
Let none assume to till the land but farmers.
I only speak to you as one of them.
You shall go to your run-out mountain farm,
Poor cast-away of commerce, and so live
That none shall ever see you come to market-
Not for a long long time. Plant, breed, produce,
But what you raise or grow, why feed it out,
Eat it or plow it under where it stands
To build the soil.
...For what is more accursed
Than an impoverished soil pale and metallic?
What cries more to our kind for sympathy? ...
Build soil. Turn the farm in upon itself
Until it can contain itself no more,
But sweating-full, drips wine and oil a little.
I will go to my run-out social mind
And be as unsocial with it as I can.
The thought I have, and my first impulse is
To take to market— I will turn it under.
The thought from that thought—I will turn it under
And so on to the limit of my nature.
We are too much out, and if we won't draw in
We shall be driven in...
Typically, for me, writing is thinking - and publishing just a part of the process. But as of now (for how long, who can say.. to the limit of my nature?)...
Well, just now I am building soil; turning my thoughts under to fertilise the next crop.