DONAGHEEK
As a writer, I am a snowstorm. I start as a soft sprinkle with a few simple ideas. I am light and pretty and cold but as the snow starts to pile up and the words accumulate, I become a bit more treacherous. The sentences I write, once short and easy to understand, start to string together as my mounds of white powder grow to new heights. I become hard to see. I am a thick coating and all that can be heard is the howling of the wind and the words landing heavily on the page. I transform myself from a few flakes into a terrifying blizzard. The people are scared because the weathermen never prepared them for me. The forecast was for only a light dusting, something typical during this time of year, but like I surpass all petty expectations. Eventually, once all the plows have cleared the streets and all the snowmen have been made, I slow to a stop. The children wake up in the morning and look out the window and me, the storm, has ceased, but what is left is magical. I've decorated the trees with a thousand little diamonds just as I decorate the pages in my notebook with a thousand words. I, the storm, never fail to awe..........