is it still February?
It is. Still February, still mightily cold, still snowy. I can hear the familiar and homey scrape of the snow shovel outside as D clears our driveway once again (picture above, taken from the warm, unsnowy vantage point of the stairway window).
I'm working on new stuff this weekend, the first time for a long time I've worked on anything else at all except my novel. I feel frolicsome, lighthearted. My head is buzzing with ideas. Luckily, this is a 3-day weekend, so I can let my writing time scroll out, unfold, without thinking too much of what I have to do at work. And tomorrow is a planned writing day--I'm getting together with my sister and 2 writer friends for a Lake Tahoe day, where we recreate (sadly without a beach) how we worked intensively at Lake Tahoe last July.
Yesterday I wrote a poem and a story, which was so much fun, I may try to do it again today. Here are the 1st lines of the story:
Here we are, and it’s nice that we’re together. We are sisters. We may be dead. I don’t feel a need to clear up the question, for what good would it do to know? We might have to take action of some sort, and there are no instructions, no help of any kind on offer.
My sister doesn't like the title, which is "Transubstantiation," and she may be right.