It's another working-from-home day for me.
I haven't been writing any poetry or even revising. The snow is my poetry. If I lived in New England, I might never write a word. I would just sit by the window all day and watch.
Okay, maybe for a week, a fortnight even. Then it might become ordinary. That's hard for me to imagine, although it's getting a little easier.
And thanks to the efficacy of email, I have received rejections.