Rain on snow

Today I was meant to go skiing. What is the point of not working if you can't enjoy the season and its offerings? We had more than 24 hours of light soft snow and I was anticipating a fabulous few hours. I had even secured some ski pants to borrow so that I wouldn't be freezing in my silly wind pants like I did last time. But instead, the grey sky offered rain. I left the ski pants with their owner after enjoying the company and a cup of tea and am again idle. After wandering town, I decided to use the hours to help begin the process of daily blogging, in support of the group which hosts national write a novel month(November). If I were at all handy with a computer I would put the link here but I tried that yesterday and failed, repeatedly. Instead, take my word for it, they are now claiming Feb to be the month where you blog every day. All in the effort to keep writers writing. It is a good exercise. So I will play the game. Because today, without skiing, I felt again the tension, the sadness, the heaviness that is the reality of not working. It is just damn tough to stay up when the push of the universe right now feels heavy and down. Maybe a poem is trying to announce itself. It has been quite some time since I've written a poem. I'll let you know how I got on.