Excerpt from a fictional work in progress:
“Its November. We’ve had a few snows already. More snow tonight, 4 to 6 inches. And Friday, maybe a foot. The road, its unmaintained by the county. Some days, ‘cannot get to town. A fellow comes over with a snowplow, about four miles from here, but rarely. My first winter indoctrinated me with a number of snowstorms, blowing in, settling in, around my little house up here at 10,500 feet. Power outages happen and water pumps don’t work, electric lights become immediately dormant. But lanterns do work. Wood burning stove has a flat surface to cook a few things: tortillas, eggs, a steak, boil water for tea and coffee. Yes, the snow is coming. And with the winter season comes a strong mixture of melancholy and irritability.
See Part Two for the rest of this story.