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Tuesday, November 09, 2004
  First Snow.

The time has come. I am lighting my candle and the incense. There is the sound of a harp which has grown to be some form of private tradition.

Then I position myself at the big window and watch the snow.

It is meagre, small and far from perfect but the first one rarely is. More of a messenger than a majesty. In my mind the past year is coiling up, image after image. How little time has become.

Winter is early, and I wonder whether this might mean something or just anything. I remember a line from a song: The world seems shrouded, far away...

Yes. It is not only about snow but about winter itself. The smell, the sound, the intensity of winter. Not healing any wounds, instead making them bearable and agreeable to live with. Winter puts a seal on you, moulding your fragments into one life.

Put a blanket on it. Have a cup of tea. And forgodssake stop whining. Be grateful for once.
  13:36