Writing on Snow

The season didn’t shift so much as sharply dislocate. Last week it was late autumn; this week, it’s deep winter. It’s snowing as I write, flakes varying hour on hour from thin powder to thick swarms. It’s cold out. Snow banks gain height on streets and sidewalks, swallow tree trunks, weigh branches down. The sky’s the same colour as the ground.

I love w…

This post is for paying subscribers