Springtime Reflections: How Nature Fuels My Creativity

Wind may be my favorite element in nature. It speaks in a language I know well, sometimes soft and reflective, other times loud and unrelenting. It mirrors emotion, moving from a whisper to a roar, often guiding the stories I write.

I love to sit outside and let the wind dictate the emotion of a scene. Take Paternal Poise, for instance. Many of Sequoya’s outbursts, fierce, impulsive, unruly, were written during hurricane season in the South. On those days, I’d hear the wind rip through the sky, bursting in unpredictable gusts that wore down even the most deeply rooted trees. Those towering 100-foot giants, majestic yet vulnerable, reminded me of human fragility. One well-placed gust, and a limb could crash down. Where I’m from, we call them “widow makers.” That name is no exaggeration. The power of wind demands respect. It commands attention, and for me, it inspires.

But there’s another kind of wind, the gentle kind. A breeze so soft it barely lifts a leaf, like a lover’s touch brushing skin. I remember sitting on a hotel balcony, the breeze curling around me as I wrote the healing sibling moment between Sequoya and MD in Dream Divine. On that page, the two shared their grief without shame or judgment. I wanted that chapter to feel like an exhale, like the release you feel after a good massage. That breeze made its way into the story.

Then there are the still days, when the wind has disappeared entirely. In the South, those days are thick with heat and silence. No movement. No relief. Just weight. That kind of weather reminds me of the emotional heaviness we carry, grief, loneliness, pride. Those are the scenes where my characters linger, stuck, simmering, sometimes unable to move forward. The stillness becomes its own kind of atmosphere, a character in itself.

So yes, I suppose I’m deeply impressed by wind, its subtlety and strength, its presence and its absence. It’s a force I write with, whether I mean to or not.

How does nature move your creativity?