December 28th, 2016

hiroshige: foxfires on musashino

Turn of the year

The Dead Days this year are cold rather than warm- reasonable cold, not arctic vortex- so the grey is sharp and hard-edged and sprinkled with white as in childhood holidays, not the dank depressing melting lour of the mid-oughties. Would enjoy it more if I weren't crippled. My left knee objects to my boots, my wide perfect boots, and stabs whenever I walk in them. Stabs also when I bicycle and might stab in shoes, who knows. If it wouldn't snowflurry so picturesquely I'd be willing to give shoes a try. However, happy pills or possibly maturity make me sanguine about all this. What will be, will, and all that.

It's still and suddenly Wednesday again.
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