Here's my first attempt at doing this...and I trust that it will get better.

Faced with a blank page, I feel that I have to write. Ah, but then the question arises: What shall I write? Well, I guess I'll make it short for now, since my little coffee shop world hinges on my being there (right now as it stands, I fund quite a few people's caffine and nicotine habits...). So I'm sitting in front of a computer with bad graphics and a slight headache from the change in weather (I live in Wisconsin, and it finally snowed!) but I feel somewhat uninspired right now. Wait...I know what it is: I need food. [POOF! She makes herself dinner.] Now that I have food, I feel like writing. But I did promise to keep it short. I guess that I just wanted to write some eloquent introduction. It isn't working. I suppose it will be interesting once I dig around for some of my poetry.

So I'll leave you with some thoughts about snow:
I've always thought that snow was primarily for children. I remember the endless hours I spent outside in the snow, wearing bulky snowpants and bulky jackets. It was heaven to come in from the cold and peel off every wet layer of clothing - which, inexplicably, seemed to be all of them, since I could never figure out how snow ever got in my underwear - and drink hot chocolate while sipping chicken noodle soup. I remember the excitement of a possible snow day and every child's wish that school would be closed. We would call each other the night before to see if there was any glimmer of hope that school was canceled. I remember the elation when it was and the utter disappointment when it wasn't. But then I got older. Snow took on a new meaning. When I learned to drive, snow no longer was the joyful event I prayed for. Clear off the car, try to make it to school, get to school to find out that it will close an hour after I've arrived, which is just enough time for heaping piles of snow to gather on my car so that I spend more time cleaning it off. Drive home, get stuck in the driveway, shovel myself out, make it to the garage. Then I had to shovel it off of the driveway, the sidewalk, up to the door of our house, just so that I could get to the front door. Snow became a nusiance. I despised it. Now, I am not that much older, but I do have an appreciation for it again. It is pretty. I still have to clean off my car, and I still have to shovel, but somehow snow transforms the city streets. We are all equals when it comes to snow. It blankets the lawns, even the Jones' lawn. If you've lived in an area that gets snow, I'm sure that you have many, many stories about its fun and its flaws. Snowstorms are nearly a bonding experience, and most people that I've met have a story or two about that One Big Blizzard of [insert year here]. And with that thought, I bid you adieu, for I must go and shovel...