My morning commute is with the sunrise, and evening with the sunset. There's two ways to picture winter: a pain-in-the-ass season of slogging
through the rain on my bike, wet and cold - a blur of short, gray days
and cold nights. Or, I can feel the acute cold on my fingertips, the icy rain
stinging my face, and the grateful clarity of the rare day without rain -
hot pinks sunrises and sunsets. Everything is intensified. This
external experience brings a new freshness to my writing, too. With the
short days the outside world shrinks, and the space for quiet reflection
and creating stories swells. And that's pretty lovely.