Up here in the Great White North it’s been anything but Great, or White. We’ve seen nary a breath of snow this season; a record for us Canucks who are used to being buried in the stuff by mid October. But as I sit here, the wind is blustering outside my 8th floor apartment, and I can see by the radar that I’ll be waking up to a very stormy dawn. I wait for it, because I am at heart, a storm watcher, be it literately or figuratively. And I suppose this storm can be looked at metaphorically, if you can dig it.
Time has been tight; work, sleep; these are things that have occupied my life lately. In this brief post, that I hope to finish off in the few moments that I have to myself before going off to sleep, I wanted to welcome you all to this new Writer’s Den page. It’s not fundamentally all that different from my original one, but I felt it was time for a change. Although, I do intend to really amp up the writing aspect of it; more writing tips, articles, information that’ll help in this crazy thing we call composition. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not posting this stuff to preach to anyone, I’m learning just like everyone else. These are things that I hope will help me, too. So consider this a “Writing Encounter Group” designed to inspire and help foster creativity.
So, welcome to the new Den. I hope it’s just as cozy as the old one, and I hope I can provide some insight and inspiration to all you writers out there with my nutty mind and even nuttier writer ways. And as the wind howls outside my windows, and as I await the first big storm of the season, I’ll leave you with this wonderful Robert Frost poem:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost (1923)
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
~ ~ ~
Peace and Love, all.