Early December. Almost four weeks post-US election. Cold and clear here in my town, with brisk winds that sweep the clouds out of the sky.

Writing continues. I hop around from a novel manuscript to a blog serial to short letters to friends about the state of the world, trying to make sense of it all. Or just to hang on to one another. Whatever it is, I’m writing my way through it.

There might be a metaphor in this weather of ours. The way the cold wind stings and scours, makes it hard to stand up straight, makes us lean as we walk, and yet leaves those gorgeous blue skies in its wake.

And, snow is in the forecast.