It started last night with the dreams. I would bet that's how many blogs begin. Piles that need sorting, describing, holding on to so as to let go. It was also the snowfall. Moments ago I saw it coming through the ponderosa pines on the river, falling to the chokecherry bushes below. Then the sliding sound off the roof, and the only snow to be seen is climbing up the window in piles, pushing into the room. The dreams were about DA--sand through the fingers. Projects written and started and finished, moving across worlds--Andes, Gaza. Here comes the sound again--heavy snow sliding down the propanel, looking for a place to land. The room is darker now. A shovel.
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