Winter inspires me.  During a season in which many people feel grey and colorless, trapped and isolated, I feel peace.  I enjoy the forced slow-down, the quiet solitude.  In spring, there is the pressure to perform, to look alive, to bring forth, but in winter, there are no expectations of colorful creativity.  My mind has the freedom to snuggle under the blankets.  The roots of my ideas are allowed to run deep beneath the frozen surface, where the soil is dark and rich.  Winter brings rest, where not just the body is restored, but the soul and spirit, as well.  Inspiration swirls like snowflakes; storylines etch their frosty paths across the glassy surface of my mind, ever-connecting in beautiful patterns that would dissolve in the glare of the sun.  Frost gives the appearance of impediment, but rather than a barrier, they are star-like pathways that I can follow in infinite directions, wherever they will lead.  Their muted colors will become vibrant in the spring, but for now, winter’s cold clarity allows me to see possibilities I would miss in technicolor.  The birthpangs of spring will come soon enough, so for now, I’ll quietly follow the ice-trails, catch the snowflakes on my tongue, and just chill.

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