It is coming down really fast and may turn to freezing rain. Plowing is slower than ideal. Still, it’s just a snowstorm and I don’t quite understand the emergency reverse 911 calls, constant reports, and all the rest.
We walked early and had a hard fetch session at the upper field and then played out back just now too, before I shoveled (arg – is the snow heavy!) I’m down for the count, as my father used to say. Finn would prefer otherwise.
It’s a good day to make revisions to text (today, a chapter covering the hours before the Stono Rebellion, 1739, from the perspective of a bondman) and maybe also to see if I can stomach last night’s recorded CNN special about Putin. For now, eating leftovers and about to watch “Nashville” (she said sheepishly).
“Hope comes unbidden, just as despair does.”
One of my characters says this and it has been running through my mind this week. There really is something about spring bringing hope and I am clinging to the idea, even if a little trite and even though a Nor’easter is barreling up the coast at this very moment. The temperature dropped so much since yesterday that I had to wear a scarf and a down coat walking Finn today. With four to eight inches of snow predicted for Sunday night, it sounds as though we shall need to shovel again come Monday. Tomorrow I will cover the newly emerged bluebells with large jars.
I have a lament to post tomorrow. It came from a prompt in writing class yesterday and contains a few threads of thought that will eventually be included in a book review.
It’s about sex. And doubt. Look for it.