The Last Storm
There is something tranquil about tucking my little four footed companion onto the sofa as I ready myself to work on my next novel. The snow storm is approaching. My body feels its slushy march sweeping down from the north. Even my head aches a little. Anticipation of the whiteness that spreads like a white blanket across the ground could damage my fragile lilies peeking up throughout the rock garden. Yet I welcome its wet quiet. One more time before spring bursts forth and destroys our memories of colder days. It won’t be long until you hear, “I wish the rain would stop!” or “It’s too hot!” But I will remember this night when my fingers grew cold from turning the thermostat too low. Maybe the words will flow like the flakes predicted for the morning. Perhaps the words will be so deep I’ll need a shovel to move some aside. Another storm brews in my imagination that must be written. Like mid western storms ideas come and go so quickly that it’s difficult to capture the beauty and essence if you delay. Having spoken the truth I’ll close. Chapter 15 awaits.