It has been snowing off and on for a couple of days here at the church. Last night it was a light dusting of tiny crystal particles, but today it is big fat flakes obliterating everything. I can only see properly out of two rooms -- the bathroom and vestry -- because the other windows are either stained glass or bubble glass. But right above my desk, one of the bubble glass panes was broken at some point and replaced with plain glass, so there's a little square of window I can see out of as I work. The cedars are slowly being frosted white. I wish I'd thought to bring a camera, because it is quite beautiful. I know this blog would be more interesting for you, poor readers, with pictures.
All is quiet. I have been writing madly (rewrites for the publisher) for 8-10 hours a day for the last few days. When it's going well, I feel I'm in a snow globe, and when it's not going well, I am in a padded cell. But I'm anticipating today's experience will flow well; I'm nearing the end.
Brio will be glad. Lying here on the couch, watching me work all day and write all evening has not been exciting for him. We stop to play ball, of course, but lately even that joy has paled, and now he lies there much of the time with his head on his paws, gazing steadily at me. I can't tell if he's sad, homesick, bored, tired, frustrated...or just content to sit and critique my creative process. If he knows, he isn't saying. I will bundle him out into the blizzard to walk to the lake this afternoon to perk him up. I know it perks me up, the cold wind in my hair and the icy pellets pinging off my face.
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