Waiting for snow. In Chattanooga. Sitting indoors listening to music. Listening to music and writing. In a lawn chair next to a heater, a radiator. Stacks of books everywhere. Writing. Yup. I love words. Is that it? No not exactly. I love talking to you, whoever you are. I love expressing myself, finding expression? Not quite it again. I like the way that talking in words through my hands gets at things, brings me closer to important things. Wells. Reservoirs. Sources of water. Not always. Sometimes. But the sometimes makes it all worth it. It’s a little like waiting for snow. Now that I think about it is also like waiting inside for something to happen outside. It may not snow but it’s been worth the time dreaming about it.