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Driving home at dusk I saw three deers out in the evening sun on frozen snow. Spring is here but nope, of course, its not here. Waist-high-hills of snow is a little higher by now; spring is here they say

My dear wife, there is nothing much i can do other than taking plunge in the frozen river every evening, for its cold and empty at thirteen Grove. The other day Floss was there in a meeting; she bought the house on the river and, curiously enough, she is off FB. Anyway, today was cold but sunny and crisp; day is longer and I missed the evening ride to Hanawa or to the ways of heaven only you shall now. Its almost four in the morning; snowing lightly. I put the garbage and recycling bins out. Small town emptiness at this small hours of Tuesday is truly overwhelming. Down the road I can see a disheveled chevy slowly getting out of the hospital parking ..

The other day the sun was shining. When the sun sat, the moon was not there. The stars twinkled. The rain came. It was autumn and the maple leaves were kind-of-crimson. In the midst of pouring rain I heard the leaves fall. A parting. A murmur for the morrow.

When the eyes don't see and the heart does not murmur,  one must watch the mountain letting its pebbles go. The pebbles rush down the brook. The water dances. The pebbles woe. It's like Leonard Cohen lamenting and celebrating his age and his age-old-days and on the go.