After word

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THERE’S a certain slant of light,

On winter afternoons ……

When it comes, the landscape listens,

Shadows hold their breath;

When it goes, ’tis like the distance

On the look of death.

---Emily Dickinson.

(Courtesy of astarte)

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December in Romania:

December brown set in about three...These were the shortest days. The afternoon light no sooner came in than it was on its way out. It was cold, too. Brittle scales began to show on the street puddles, a crystalline bitterness setting in. Where the light withdrew, the yellow-brown of the stucco was pocked with mild blue. On the open porches over the way-bottles, wet rags hung out to dry frozen at the points, and vine twigs. The glory of the day carried things easily when the sun shone; but when the sun passed, things seemed abandoned, they became dissociated, and you had to find a way to take them up yourself.

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Saul Bellow