But I might.
We've got a "powerful bomb cyclone" winter storm underway today (bomb cyclone??). Hour after hour, snow piles up outdoors.
Indoors I am cozy. Dry. Warm.
The wind has not been ferocious (nor perceptibly cyclonic) here but a steady background sussuration—a whispering, murmuring, and rustling—of winter wind keeps me company. A susurration and the intermittent thunk-and-scrape of snow plows. A January concert.
In my studio, I play again with yesterday's canvas because I don't like the wrapped edges painted black after all. In deference to my headache (now that's a bomb cyclone!), the main symptom of which currently is that I can't tolerate the discomfort of wearing my glasses, I work for only a short time and half-blind. I mix up some titanium white and bright aqua green and spread it over all the edges with my finger. Then I transform one edge with oil pastels.
Thunk, scrape, whisper.