Monday Challenge: After The Storm

English: West Virginia Country Church early in...

Nothing but silence and the wind. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Winter: it is not fucking around this year. Those of you who were in the path of the storm, I hope that you’re safe and warm somewhere, and that you have power. Barring that, I hope you have some friend or relative whose power you can steal on a more or less indefinite basis.

Still, it’s beautiful out there today. The sky’s clear, the sun’s shining, and the ice is falling from the roofs, making for an interesting obstacle course outside. And shovelling that icy, compacted mess is hard enough work that I can do it in a t-shirt. After the last couple of days of whiteout conditions and snowy masses of death descending from the heavens, I’ll take whatever win I can get.

While I’m out there beating back the demons of winter with the edge of a steel shovel, I’ll be enjoying the beautiful day that sometimes comes after a storm. The moment where the clouds break and the sun shines again, or the stars. I woke up very early this morning to get a look at those, too. Having not seen them for a while, it was nice to say hello again. Likewise the sun, who I’ve missed. Yeah, there’s a shitload of work to get done today, writing and otherwise, but that can wait. For now, it’ll just be me and the sun and the shovel.

So, in honour of winter reminding us exactly who the fuck is Queen around here, write me the moment after the storm. Not necessarily this one, and not necessarily a real storm. Write me the peace at sea after a hurricane, the calm after weeping, the afterglow that comes after angry sex. Write me a moment of peace before the next storm hits.

And then get out there and shovel your driveway.

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3 thoughts on “Monday Challenge: After The Storm

  1. Hey, Knuckles. Hate to hear about so many folks who got hit with the storm. We didn’t have any of that. I live in St. Augustine. It must be in the mid to upper 70s outside. Its absolutely gorgeous.

    K. I am bragging . . . a little . . .

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