Snow twits. That’s what you called them, those seasonal cabin dwellers who came out to the lake in the coldest, snowiest weather to “get their Thoreau on,” as if a week of frozen solitude might somehow ignite the Nobel within. “Damn fools,” you said, “it’s the person, not the place.”
After you left, I took my pen and notebook out the back door and through the snow to the shed, fixed with a desk and a space heater and a Dietz lantern, and there my mind traversed the fantastical outskirts of imagination, and I wrote. A Thoreau twit, I guess.
“The best part of writing is that it’s often a surprise and sometimes a shock to see what I’ve written.” – the writer
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