the end is wonderfully come winter. Not with the fierce cold and sharp or sudden storms, or miniature ice ages, no, I did not want to overdo it this year. He did announce a perfect snow worthy of a holiday comedy, which lasted the space of one night and that's it. In the morning I wake up a phone and it is my mother who sings to me Jingle Bell and tells me to look out the window. I'm back baby. In the kitchen might expect warm milk and cookies and Christmas gifts and is such a shame that time has all but dissolved it. The landscape has changed and the eyes and brain have an unexpected new postcard of where they were already certain to see the usual sepia watercolor. A moment later I smile. I'll give everything that instant, one hand on the glass close to the cold test grating on the windows, ears filled with the silence that snow brings with it and nostrils ... those which had sniffed the night before the snow. The eyes fulfilled the bottom of the sky with white houses, with roads, with street lamps and with passers-by. The way you will not have not at this moment is the taste. In other places I'd be open to being shoved in her mouth to suck a snowball, but Milan could be the last thing I do before ending up on dialysis.
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