For all the frenzy that was here, there are long sighs instead. I am thinking about winter again. About snow. Pasternak (who I trust as much as anybody) says all things vanish within it.I have also been thinking about how the fog on Pony Island just wasn't thick enough for a vanishing act. I seethed and seeped out into the creeping mists, inhaled and clouded my head with damp rage. It took hurtling myself through the air and running myself ragged in order to calm the frenzy down. Maybe it really is true, and I am I from the Midwest, and I needed that last March snowstorm.
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