any cold floating around. But when it snows? Suddenly, everything seems beautiful again. It's a magical moment of weather, the kind that lasts barely half a day here in my corner of England. But we dream about it, and when it arrives, we dance through the snow. We had our first snow of the year on Monday. I fell over twice on the way home, and my legs and elbows and back are bruised and aching from that, but somehow the sheer beauty of morning snow makes up for it.
I've been watching a lot of slam poetry lately, the kind of words that fire up something in your soul and make you fall in love with life all over again. It couldn't have come at a better time; during this long cold month when all I want to do is bury myself under my duvet and sleep, this poetry shows me just how much there is to write about. Over the past few days, I have written about things I know to be true, and the bruise blossoming on my knee, and the snowfall. I have written about the fantasy novels my best friend loves, and the news headlines that shock me, and seventeen ways to get over a boy who never knew your name but you loved nonetheless. I am writing-writing-writing. Writing from under my duvet, but writing nonetheless, and somehow getting through this. That is a whole 'nother post though.
For now? I am just letting you know that I am alive. Slipping on ice and making snow angels, crying at slam poetry and wonderful films, swapping books with friends and stealing others from my brother's bookshelves. Visiting vintage fairs and sharing stories over bowls of pho. Remembering my word.
It is good.