The snow fell today — nothing like the 18 inches they predicted — and each tree branch holds an inch of snow so that there’s a line of black on white. Light reflects off the white and fills the sky with that color — a sort of pinkish grey — that happens only when it snows. The flakes are so fat that they make a “plop” sound as they hit the sidewalk or leaves or steps.
A friend read my recent poem and said it took her head off. I think what I’m doing now is working. It took me a long time to get to this point. A lot of waiting and ruminating and practicing and taking time to gain mastery in certain areas and a lot of mindfulness and NON-goal-oriented thinking (which is usually not acceptable in American culture) and the reward is poems that work for me.
I’m practicing more non-goal-oriented thinking as I play with ideas for spring. I have a sketchy/drafty plan of something I want to create AND I’m also in a place of needing NOT to map it out or create a check list or discuss it much with anyone.
Instead, I’m withdrawing a little. I’m content to stay home, write in my journal, be with friends, eat warm homemade soup, and appreciate fire.