Today the snows do fall; lightly, brightly, but still, falling. I wake to a gray world which I don’t so much see through as see. Dancing out the door, there are millions of winter verities dropping from the sky like birds that, having finally given up flight, are now coming to be amongst. The world addresses itself with needed silence. I sit beyond all conveniences, within the weathers, listening to nothing. When the machinations of your head are the loudest thing you hear, the gear whine of thought upon thought upon thought seems almost quaint, manageable.
(The coming season demands quite the tower of books, so I dutifully, obsequiously, fastidiously obliged. Avast! Adjectives as poisons of meaning. They’re in no real order, will be read in an order, and I’ve ordered myself to keep any and all curious of my current literary status. Tuned, stay.)
