So to get the context of this, the picture above is what’s going on outside my house right now.
I’m inside, where it’s warm (if you’re wearing sweatpants, double-layered socks, and a hand-knit wool sweater, anyway).
I’m writing about Ohio in the spring… which (ahem) this ain’t… while looking out the window at snow spiraling down off the barn next door, with the snow currently coming down so hard that the house catty-corner from us across the street is just a hazy impression of its big old monster self.
Turns out, this is the perfect time to write a spring scene. Because to get spring right, you have to want it. You have to be able to summon the shapes and colors and sounds and scents, the still-cool air that feels like a kiss, the smell of warming earth and fresh-sprouting grass… and as much as I’m enjoying watching the snow because I’m inside and don’t have to drive in it, (and right now, we don’t have a road anyway… we have an unbroken blanket of snow that’s going to be last to get cleared because we live on an alley…) I do find myself happy to contemplate dogwoods and crabapples and Judas trees in full bloom.
Those are next on the Ohio Weather menu.
Meanwhile, I got 251 words, NOT about the weather, but about scary things happening to people I like.
Now I have to go talk with my guys over at HollysWritingClasses.com about the upcoming website move. And work on that. So…
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