Friday, December 26, 2003
And today, I go back to "The Dry Salvages" (many, many meanings there). I shall sit in my cold office, the cryosphere swirling about me, whispering to me of Mars and Antarctica and Siberia, glaciers and animals frozen stiff on snow-covered plains, of the bottom of the sea and frostbite. The cryosphere knows the language of Cold, and Cold is patient because it knows it gets the final universal laugh.
I am armed with my stocking cap.
The movies were delightful yesterday. See them both, Peter Pan and The Big Fish. This is, without a doubt, the finest Peter Pan ever.
The year is drawing rapidly to its close. Drawing rapidly. The days growing mercifully longer, by scant degrees. Between these poles, I strike my keys.
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