I keep waiting for there to be a lesson in all of this weather. Something about patience or fortitude. Something about tenacity and grit.
The snow falls and we shovel it. We rake it off the roof. We wait.
The snow melts and freezes. Our roof dams up. Drips enter through the walls. The ceilings bead.
We break up the dams but more come and then more.
Each morning we find a new drip in a different room.
More snow is in the forecast.
I wait. I wait for my new book to come out. I wait for someone to read it and say something about it. My anxiety falls down upon me like snow. It melts and freezes and backs up onto my roof. It drips down inside me, threatening collapse from that we cannot see.
Then a voice comes through. A human voice. A person I do not know takes the time to read my book and say a few words and the snow stops falling and the ice melts and goes away and the piles melt and the crocuses bloom.
All is not lost. The walls will be fixed. The ceilings repaired. A new roof installed. We will all begin again, maybe better than before.
All is not lost. A person and another and maybe even another will read this book and I will hear their voices. Let them sing to me. Let them rage at me. If what I have said speaks to you, I have done my job. It feels like everything to do my job.
Thank you for this lesson. Thank you for the snow and the ice and the drips and these broken walls and these cracked ceilings. I am listening.
Thank you for letting me speak to you and thank you for you hearing me.