The Promise of Prose February 2026

It has been a beautiful week, and I’m deeply grateful for winter—for the way it gently insists on stillness. 

This morning, I took a photo outside. It looks like the world is settling into stillness. We already have about a foot of snow blanketing the ground, and now they’re calling for another inch an hour, which means I’ll have plenty of time to stay tucked inside where it’s warm—book in hand, letting the hours drift by page after page.

I truly appreciate unhurried days, reading without interruption, and finally catching up on my blogging. The cold has given me permission to slow down, to retreat indoors where warmth gathers, and to lose myself in the quiet comfort of reading. Wrapped in blankets, with the world hushed outside, I’ve found a rare kind of peace in these moments, where time feels unhurried, and stories become both refuge and companion.

I find comfort in knowing that many books await me. Within their pages, words will stand in for some of what I’m leaving behind—adventure, beauty, reflection, escape. I suppose that is what one might call the promise of prose.