My car is in there somewhere
I've just come back inside from shoveling out after a massive snowstorm. My town in New Hampshire hit the jackpot with storm Juno, racking up an impressive 33 inches of the white stuff.
|Can't mail a letter if you can't find the mailbox|
Most people I know really hate the snow. It's hard to go anywhere—the roads are slippery and visibility is low. Even something as simple as walking to the mailbox in the middle of a blizzard is ill advised. And yet
|My backyard all decked out in white|
There's something to be said for snow storms. My street and my backyard are decked out in a lovely winter white, which, as of this writing hasn't yet gotten streaked with dirt and grime. During the heart of the blizzard, everything shut down. Even the local Dunkin Donuts closed their doors until the skies cleared. You couldn't shop, or get an oil change, or even mail a letter (so forget walking to the mailbox) if you wanted to. Most of us stayed inside and watched as the world filled with snow. It was a quiet day, a day for going nowhere and doing nothing much. For me, it was a perfect day for writing.
Writing takes up time and space. So often, in my hurry to go to the dry cleaners or get the oil changed or post that letter, I put writing on the shelf. I squeeze it in where I can. Yesterday, with nowhere to go, writing became a priority.