We found your footprints in the snow.
We brushed them all away. //
Chilly night here, the forecast says low of 63f/17c. My fingers and nose definitely forgot what cold feels like. So I have on socks. Trying to figure out what I think about claims of blood descent from a prophet, or mid-20th century Indonesian politics, shivering. Realizing it’s not important and I was just confused. I try to be better at being confused, or the feeling when you suddenly stop being confused, and realize how confused you’ve been, fingers fumbling with keys, perhaps for a long time, even in a sort of rhythmic way. Cozy pajamas help. The moon was an icy white chunk in a starry black sky but I can’t see it now because it’s too cold to get out of bed. I’m under the covers writing this with a flashlight, and I’m about to put on “50 Words for Snow”, (by Kate Bush), which is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. Probably the warmest thing ever written about the cold. This album will take care of you in a dark moment. It’s such a midwinter meditation.
Salam and a peaceful night to all.