It snowed and snowed and snowed. At 6 pm on Sunday, O’Hare airport logged 9.9 inches, while Romeoville reported 12.1 inches. The pile left by the plows at the end of my driveway reached above my knee, and while I didn’t measure, I guestimate the depth there at 18 -24 inches deep. Blowing and drifting create white-capped waves on the lawn, and already they are warning we will get another 1-4 inches on Thursday. Their cautions make me smile. I have a stocked fridge, heat, electricity, internet service, plenty of coffee, and I don’t have to rush to my office early Monday morning. These days, my car only requires an injection of gasoline every three months.

With our work at home mandates, I get by with clearing a safe walkway for a few sporadic deliveries. There are no venue changes and escapes to the coffeehouse for a writing session, no dinner plans with friends, and expecting company is a thing of the past. I relish the ability to ignore winter weather warnings and focus on my immediate responsibilities.

It is blissful. I choose not to engage with the reactionary media. The din recedes, creating a gentle, albeit an annoying hum I soon dismiss. Better still, I switch to my favorite background music as a more fitting compliment for my writing. I hope the snow descends and covers the world in a thick, muffling blanket. In the silent night, I listen to my heart. My muse giggles, and arm in arm, we explore.

What problems can you safely ignore?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer