Sunday night. Cassatt locked me out so I’m downstairs writing while Hubs gets the boys ready for bed, for school tomorrow. This is going to be another Stream of Consciousness post, because I haven’t planned anything in advance. But I’ve committed to Just Jot January, so here goes.
The snow fell softly on itself. Layer upon layer, building white until the landscape was washed and bleached, clean and fresh for the next chapter. January.
She watched out the window draped with lace white curtains, before she looked down to the page. A sea of white, seeming to stretch as far as the eye could see, on top of the stainless steel desk, with only a pencil to darken the landscape. To write down goals, plans. To mar the fresh white with her dreams. January.