This misty Sunday morning – threatened as it is by freezing rain – proves to be an ideal stage for languorous expression. And the romantic sentimentalism of Gustav Mahler. I awoke mid-morning after a prolonged sleep fostered by Melatonin (the naturopathic sedative heralded by the wife of my dentist). With the aid of Tylenol 650 mg I struggled as a consequence to restore a semblance of manipulation to my recovering and now arthritic broken ribs, deteriorating lower spine and neuropathic limbs and feet. Just saying. Likewise the elements prevailed. Gone for the moment at least is the urgency to cycle to restore one’s psychic balance and physical decorum. The diminished temperatures and already alarmingly low sun on the distant horizon contribute naturally to the clime of wintry isolation. I too intend to sink to provincialism.
What shall we do when the snow flies?