The downy quilt of winter has returned. Front yards spill white toward the dark, wet slash of the street. Garlands festoon the front of my neighbors’ houses. I’ve decorated for Christmas myself, and I find life settling into that familiar hectic holiday pace.
When to write!
The snatched moments come between car rides and family dinners. Fragments of conversation get lodged in my mind for future use. Yet even as I write this now, I know they’ve disappeared into the great jumble pile that is my memory.
So instead of working on anything good, I watch the snow flurries dance to and fro outside my office window. White flakes on a backdrop of stark gray trees, their branches like spindly fingers.
It is growing dark outside.
Thank you for reading, Prose Lovers! I hope you enjoy these small moments as much as I do. They seem to mean nothing and yet everything all at once. May you enjoy a few of them yourselves this weekend.