I’m waiting for the snow to start falling here.
marika bianca

Hi, marika. I have the next installment of your “Coffee” story bookmarked. Looking forward to reading it.

I was sitting around thinking about stories like yours, trying to write one of my own and struggling (it’s been ages since I’ve been able to put together a convincing fiction). I kept telling myself to focus on the details, describe a thing seen clearly, then the next thing and the next. And I became so frustrated with that voice and its commands that I decided again to pursue through poetry. The snow had started falling earlier that afternoon and my wife and I had just spent time watching it gather on the bows of our neighbor’s arborvitae. I’d noticed how quickly it swirled just past the glass but how peacefully it slid (or waved or washed) past the streetlamp above the row of pines, and I thought, if I could just describe that, just that and how it makes me feel caught between one place and the next, stuck in this moment, unable to get out of it and write like I’d always written…

It has some magic to it, snow does. I’m with you: I can’t wait for the first really good snowfall of this winter. Just to feel settled by it. Stilled.

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