Snow is on the ground here in Victoria. Victoria, BC, Canada. And more is falling as I type at my Ikea desk. I look out my window between typing lines, checking grammar, and munching on shortbread.
This is christyb, and no I didn’t bake the shortbread. Thank-you Safeway.
Poets are inspired by scenery like what I see outside my office window. Snow-covered roofs are likened to quilted blankets and symbolic images of a cold heart. The possibilities are endless. Or at least when the poet is in a creative frame of mind.
The poet can type at their keyboard or scribble a handwritten note regardless of the weather outside. Temperature of 40 degrees Celsius? I can still type. 20 or 90 degrees? Yup, same thing.
My fingers dance over the keys as I hear the scraping of a snow shovel in the property behind me. A grating noise.
We can tune out the landscape, the sound of the shovel, and instead tune into our thoughts. Transfer thoughts to MS Word?
Complete the poem?
Well, it’s coming along.
No need to rush. And who knows, maybe the snow will even get a mention in the poem.