birch and grasses alone on the snow, grey sky indistinguishable. the flat world falls into the edge of time, lifeless, dull wedge of horizon and soundless ...
27 November 2008
And then, the before-bed turkey sandwich is gone, you've drained the glass of wine, and the house is quiet: everyone is asleep. Only crumbs remain from the sourdough pumpkin rolls, and the pies are covered in tin foil. The candles are snuffed and the tablecloth graces an empty table.
I hope you have someone to curl up with, to toast, to wash the dishes with. Or else, it is just food.