Writing Down Snowflakes

The turn up the hill to my house is steep and slick with ice and slush. The truck spins its tires, but it doesn’t have the momentum to make the turn; doesn’t have the friction. It slides backwards and fishtails back and forth before the driver decides to give up and back down the hill.

It’s snowing in Flagstaff. White powder accumulates on the steps and railings. I’m watching it bury the town as I write. There is something about the snow, the way it absorbs all sound, that makes room for creativity. I don’t know if it’s the blank canvas look of fresh snow on the ground or the stillness that causes the words to bubble up, but I am bursting with stories for the first time in weeks. Today, I’m going to stay inside, brew a cup of tea and write until my carpal tunnel starts acting up. And even then, I might keep writing.

It’s a good day to write in pajamas. Let it snow.

— 30 —

How do you like to spend snowy days? If you’re like me, you’re hanging out on Twitter. You can follow me at @jonnyeberle.

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