January 16, 2022

Byrd on Pandora.

The snowstorm long prophesied is upon us. I stayed up until 2 waiting for it, but sometime between going to sleep and waking it began, and now the world is fully white, and by that I mean the sky too is a moving plain of white, beautiful and amazing even after seventy years of seeing it. It seems, weirdly, to be coming mostly from the south. From the tiny upstairs window I see clouds of it blowing from the roof. Maud curls below, beating my foot rhythmically with her tail.

Read Peacock’s Nightmare Abbey. A different world. What if a student brought that to a creative writing workshop? Yet the experience of reading it was pleasurable.