It began last night as I drove home from work, the first flakes dancing in the air, hardly visible in the looming dark. "Be where you need to be by 7 p.m.," the meteorologists said, and I barely made it, arriving home with only minutes to spare.
The coating I went to sleep with has, uh, filled out nicely during the night, and outside is 10 inches or more of the white stuff. The last time we had this much snow I started a blog. This time I'm just aiming to get the laundry done.
But house work, creative work — none of it matters. What matters is the pause, the break, the caesura.
No one is going anywhere. And that's fine with me.