I've spent an atypical amount of time today trying to figure out what's worth sharing.
Is it the meals with family of over the last several days? The ongoing reality of a strike? The fact that the snow has once again returned to the Prairies?
All of these are noteworthy, sure - reminders of the world slowly but surely pressing on.
The changing of the seasons signifies the start of the year's final chapter - one a little different than anticipated, admittedly. I was supposed to start student teaching tomorrow; that's not happening. I have a book available on Amazon; that still feels odd to sat. I was used to being busy; the strike has ground things to a halt. It's almost like being caught in the eye of a hurricane: all around us, things are whipping by - pandemic, strike, a millions things out of my control. Within, though, there exists a weird sense of calm.
In a lot of ways, my internal state matches the general feeling you get looking out of the window these days: weirdly calm. Quiet. Clean.
The snow has a weird way of slowing us down.
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