Rhubarb waffle

No, not an interesting new dessert (though a rhubarb waffle does sound tasty) - this is more of a concerned outpouring. My brain is empty. I daresay that the more perceptive among you have already discerned that fact, but at the moment it seems more than usually bleak and echoey. All the shadowy characters, half-glimpsed scenes and snapshots of stories appear to have wandered off, beyond my recall. I know it's almost a writer's duty to whinge about not being able to write, so I won't harp on too much. Indeed, this has happened to me before, but somehow everything comes back when it's ready to and I can write again, but each time there is the nagging fear...what if it's permanent this time?
I can't think about that possibility too much, for fear of descending into a fit of hysterics. There's a flash fiction to be written by Saturday, so maybe cudgelling my brains over that will help to 'restore my natural rhythm', as the constipation adverts say.
In the meantime, I intend to scoot back to my old house to see if I inadvertently left my imagination in the cupboard under the stairs.