January brought snow. The Blue Ridge lies snow covered and the fields glisten like glass. The vineyards of barren posts stand as crosses on a battlefield, soldiers in columns bracing against the bitter wind, lining up in columns to the distant hills. It's quiet and still.
For a writer, winter brings quiet spaces, stretches of time for contemplation, of scratchings, and beginnings of stories or poems. Barren times, missteps and failures can mark the winter writing season, too.
We have to be willing to be brave, to risk ourselves as we explore our memories and imaginations. As writers, we can look back and start afresh. We grasp opportunities to redo, reinvent, and thrive in any season.
In the vineyard, the distant colored sky offers promise.
For a writer, winter brings quiet spaces, stretches of time for contemplation, of scratchings, and beginnings of stories or poems. Barren times, missteps and failures can mark the winter writing season, too.
We have to be willing to be brave, to risk ourselves as we explore our memories and imaginations. As writers, we can look back and start afresh. We grasp opportunities to redo, reinvent, and thrive in any season.
In the vineyard, the distant colored sky offers promise.
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