'The house was quiet and the world was calm'

Winter is upon us. Earth and mind have slowed, the slow breathing around the one thought. Of winters many years ago, just surviving, still there, like a faint trace of chalk on the pavement after the rains.

The skies are killing us. I haven't seen blue for seven days now. You see a crow deep in the smog, just visible on the window ledge, little else but a bundle of black overcoats. why talk of the inner self here? Old crow, laughing to yourself like an old, senile man.

Cat and children and wife. I have no time for you.Disheveled, I look to you to feed me. 

You walk in the empty rooms in the quiet of the night. The mirrors give the impression of someone watching you, or watching over you. Solar dust from millions of years ago mingles with the dust industrially produced by weary hands. Descends in the cold air, covers my face, makes it expressionless. Fog-we call it that out of nostalgia- the great equalizer, making us unrecognizable to ourselves and to other people.

It's in my eyes now, then my lungs. Lucretius? 

I stand rooted in the morning, looking at the high sun, this small, burning and almost burnt-out orange disc.