Is there a kind of broken silence that only winter can reveal? Was your life but a moment after all?
Life slows down; the still point of the heart contains the memory of many, many summers. The time that is lost holds us together. Yearning, Augustine said, makes the heart grow deeper.
In the clear morning skies wisps of silver clouds return; the brick wall remains the same. All else has changed, an age has passed, my hands grow darker.
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