The problem with beautiful falling snow is the need to shovel it from sidewalks, driveways, and car windshields. It is one winter task I relish, especially when I can complete the work in nighttime silence. I tried, stayed up late in hopeful anticipation, but when I fell asleep in the morning’s small hours, it was still snowing.
The alarm slowly penetrated my hazy dreams. With reluctance, I let them slip from my mind to meet the cold, bright morning. Frigid might be a better word since my thermometer read a whopping sixteen degrees as I pulled on a hat, jacket, gloves, and sunglasses to start my day. A little voice told me to dig out my time-tested Icelandic wool coat, and I paid for my laziness with bone-cracking chills for the duration of the required work hours.
All was not lost. A steamy hot pot of Good Hope Vanilla tea, a warm vanilla sugar cookie, a cozy fire, a thick blanket, and a short restorative nap was all I needed to set the world right again. Bitter winter weather spurs me to act, often for self-preservation reasons. Freezing conditions demand forethought, action, and contingencies to account for the worst-case scenarios to preserve life. Writing may not hold such dire personal consequences. But inside me, a glowing ember of desire burns, driving me to produce stories when there are few distractions and an atmosphere enhanced by inspiring vanilla winter waves.
Do you prefer writing in the summer or the winter?
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer