Thirteen winters here in Portland and finally, I've come to terms with snow. When I left the Northeast I was 100% done with the stuff, even in its finest fresh and sparkly form. I hated the slush it turned into and the way it made everything colorless. When I woke up this morning an actual exclamation of surprise came from my mouth when I saw an inch or so accumulated on the roofs and streets and a steady drift still coming down. There was no build up for this, no panic splattered across the local news. We all simply woke up in the middle of a snow globe. Everyone out walking/sliding down the streets and sidewalks looked utterly delighted. And I was too.

The feel of a snow day is something special, like someone has tapped you with a magic wand and granted you freedom. I took the opportunity to drift off into my fiction without clients or phone calls or trips to the gym. The result was a few solid hours of good writing. Thank you snow.