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.
2 comments:
It IS beautiful, but, really - it's time to STOP singing the "Let it Snow" song! I think we ALL have enough to last so we can have a white Christmas. I never worried about too MUCH snow when I was a child. In the words of the wise Judith Viorst, "Life was better when I used to be a wetter."
I know, I know. But then I put on my skis, and it's just like being a child again. (Plus, it counts as P.T. for my knees, as long as I don't wipe out.)
Post a Comment