the anagram

oh an anagram we shall build
let us think!
and pick thoughts from each other
then put them back together
.          oh young apprentice--
.          it is indeed a cold winter
.    and so the mind must surely wander
so fleeting, fleeting-- are the thoughts
that seep out of the decaying rots
.       of teeming dendrites in the rain--
.             at least we have each other.

la silence d'hiver

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.


-- Robert Frost





why winter can be depressing

je pense, donc...

I dunno. I like thinking. It may because I am human -- perhaps the Queen Bee cannot conceive any other more pleasurable existence than laying her own weight in eggs everyday -- but oh-- it is simply the laws of probability that stun me.

The Universe is over 13-15 billion years old, and I was placed into this current era as brief as a human lifespan-- and one must think-- how did it come that I be awake in /this/ era, and not say, the Middle Ages or 40,000 years ago? And then my candle will go out, I will not be able to experience any of the human history that comes after it.

I'm not complaining (okay maybe I am, a little) but it is with puzzlement and wonder that I imagine the freakiness of being alive.