Dear Wigleaf,

It snowed for the first time yesterday, and for a few perfect hours it felt as if I lived in a snow globe. My whole world became a Norman Rockwell painting: fireplace roaring, football on TV, new puppy sleeping in the crook of my crisscrossed knees. And just beyond my windows, the day dissolved in a wash of silver that blanketed the world, covering a multitude of sins.

I needed that day, that washed-white escape from the reality of natural disasters, wars and rumors of wars, tragedies both personal and public. Man, the world is a dumpster fire. My heart aches for friends near and far—and for strangers who I will never have the chance to meet. It's easy to feel helpless and inept. But as the fires rage, I'm sometimes shocked that there are still moments of indescribable beauty. A hug from a friend, a sincere apology, the delight of a breathtaking first snow.

Maybe our best protest is this: to continue seeing the good and sharing it. To cultivate a deep and abiding gratitude in the midst of so much sorrow. To tell stories. Lovely and wrenching and terrible and true. We are made of story, and I hope you take the time to tell yours. The world needs it.

xoxo - Nicole