Snow days in Montana have a way of slowing everything down in the best possible way.

This morning the sky was that soft winter gray, and the world felt wrapped in quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you pour one more cup of coffee and open a fresh notebook without rushing.

There’s something about watching snow fall over open land that feels like a reset. The fences disappear first. Then the road. Then even the sharp edges of the mountains soften. Everything looks gentler. Forgiving.

I’ve been spending the day tucked inside, watching the flakes drift past the window while working on a new western romance. No big announcements. No pressure. Just the rhythm of typing and the peaceful hush outside.

Winter out here doesn’t feel harsh when you’re inside and writing. It feels steady. Grounded. Like the land is holding still long enough for a story to find its shape.

And honestly, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.