We have a good friend, Jim Lord, who digs us out at the lake house during the winter. This morning he was here at seven, plowed the best he could with my car there, and shoveled a walkway from the car to the front door.
I put on my boots and jacket and gloves a few hours later and went outside to clear off the car and shovel the small mountain range left by the street plow. It was windy and cold, but there were intermittent breaks of bright sunshine. By the time I finished and walked back towards the house, the path was lightly covered with snow again, the steps a little slippery.
And so it is with writing.