Chance of flurries. Resistance, likely.

A very inspiring snow report.

My writing practice sputtered back to life in January.

It was an odd time to be writing again. This January. The month that was 387 days long. Because…gestures wildly at the world.

Some days, when I’m writing silly stories about lung-numbing hill workouts and elk reincarnation and the curse of perfectionism, I feel like I should just delete it all and never send anything to anyone because none of it matters. Who wants to read about my little trail running mind trick, when we all have much, much bigger things on our minds?

But, of course, I know that we need it all, especially when we’re overwhelmed. The silly stories, March sun on our skin, soft fur in our nose when we kiss our dogs, our favorite cardamom rolls and the barista who remembers we love them. We need to run with our friends, blast Chappell Roan, share baby goat videos, and make every kind of art.

Every Wednesday night since the 387-day-long month of January, I’ve watched the latest season of The Bachelor with girlfriends because two hours of mindless, delicious, (the most) dramatic (season yet!) reality television is exactly what my brain needs. I had to ban myself from listening to political podcasts on the run, because dear lord, I need sacred places to not be in it. And running through the woods feels it should definitely be a sacred place.

So, I’ll keep writing my silly little stories because we’re all still cranking away at running, and writing, and life everything, and we need to feel more than the shitstorm swirling around us. I’ll probably still feel weird about it some weeks, but I hope these stories, essays, and ramblings give you a break, or an idea to chew on, or a virtual high five on your run, or a little glimmer of something.

And sometimes, I’ll feel called to write about some of the bigger things we’re facing, especially the things that intersect with my writing and running and life. Like, the outdoors, public lands, the environment, and, you know, being a human being.

This week, I’m popping in with a poem I wrote for the moment we’re in. (Because my reinvigorated writing practice includes cosplaying as a poet, apparently.)

This poem is inspired by a Vermonter, who used her platform as Sugarbush’s snow reporter, to share a heart-charged message (via the resort’s website, “snow phone,” and email list) when the vice president was in Vermont to ski (the day after that meeting in the Oval Office). As many of you know, I spent the first 25 years of my life in Vermont and love a good Vermont story. An ILOVERMONT story, if you will. And Lucy Welch’s is a great one.