Snow is falling, falling, falling; and I am off to drive in it.

I'll be playing music at Stutzman's Cafe this morning. Then I'll come home and stack firewood and do laundry and make bread.

This week I wrote two essays, two articles about teaching poetry, and one western Pennsylvania poem. I also applied for a job that I might actually be qualified for. I realize that's magical thinking.

None of these so-called paragraphs makes a smooth transition into the next, but that's the sort of day it is. Let style reflect reality.