One of my favorite lines from Edward Gorey's delightfully morbid alphabet book, The Gashleycrumb Tinies: "N is for Neville who died of ennui." The illustration shows the top half of a child's round face peering out above the window frame. I thought of that image today as I sat at my desk looking out the window, chin in my hands, watching snow flakes drift about and water drip off the roof. I'm supposed to be writing, but feel so uninspired. That time of year.
Snow falling listlessly,
eaves dripping.
Where is my focus?
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