Icicles hang down from my second story window, a kind of ice-gate that catches the light on rare sunny days. The season is relentless but at the same time, there is a forced quiet that I love. Cancellations have given me time I didn't expect and I use it to write, think, plan classes and lessons, and do the business of being a writer--submitting work to journals and presses. I've been home more this winter than I can remember in many years. Usually I'm up early, out early--at the gym, walking, going to work. The weather has driven me back inside and I watch the glittering trees, venturing out to clear off cars only when it is possible.
What can I learn from this? I tell my students about the importance of observation but often forget that in order to observe, one must slow down. The luxury of making soup on a Wednesday, reading a good book, or just listening to the whoosh and ping of sleet falling on the snow-laden deck and cars. Good writing comes from time spent in a chair (said someone I can't remember) but I would add that it can be time spent looking out of a window or just thinking. When was the last time you were idle? There is almost a code against idleness in our culture. It is trouble to be idle--lazy and unproductive. I'll bet that all great work came out of a period of contemplation. Einstein probably wasn't rushing somewhere when he came up with the theory of relativity. Experimenting and playing leads to creative ideas. What is it you want to do with your one wild and precious life? says the poet Mary Oliver. Should we be driving, standing in line, shuffling through mountains of paperwork? Can we create time in our lives to dream? What change happens in our world happens because of dreamers. We can all benefit from envisioning a life we want to have. As for me, I'm hoping winter lasts a little longer. I'm in love with these unexpected moments, cat curled on the chair, snow falling, tea in hand and all those ideas; the lure of imagination.
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