Morning cold. I wash my shivering and I dress in a hurry. George turns on the stove. We eat our cup of yogurt, coffee. Snow, cold. It refers to all the best of times. Wait, cold.
Sera, cold. It is early dinner, a hot soup. One puts hat, jacket and scarf and go to the library to watch the news. Cool.
You go to bed, the glass of water on the bedside table. Sometimes it freezes and breaks the glass.
We are lucky ours is a choice, masochistic in this time of year, but a choice.
In camp they did not chose.
tonight, mindful of
fairy tales in which those who fled the ogre
,
is lost in the woods
but finds the courage to walk in the dark led by a small light far away, I will
lit a candle in the window.
I'll keep a candle lit I could not turn 66 years ago.
Not to forget,
to apologize,
not to repeat,
because, as Shakespeare wrote:
can dominate all the pain, except those that experience
0 comments:
Post a Comment