The Sounds of the Country 'Round

In my office, I can often hear a large dog somewhere in the neighborhood, barking a G above middle C--I think that's it, though I have no way to verify the note. It may be a G below middle C, because it's definitely a large dog and some distance away, and the note never changes. At night, or on dim frosty days like this, it imparts a Russian feeling, visions of wolves, of Zhivago struggling through the snow. Or Omar Sharif struggling through the snow.


We only had a small gathering at the Arts Center last night. I guess everyone was afraid of the BIG SNOW which is supposed to materialize somewhere within the 24 hour period. Around here, a few sleety grains is a big snow, especially if they take an hour or so to melt.


When my book is published, I wonder if I'll stop attending writers' group meetings except to sign books, or when they ask me to hold a workshop and tell 'em how to write.


Sometimes my writing seems dangerously close to cynicism, but I'm not like that. It really is snowing.
*
Been watching the grains turn into flakes. Now that's snow!