I Think I Hate Snow, Downright Hate

All The Wild Sweetness Of The Flower Tangled Against The Wall. It Was That Magic, Silent Hour.... The Branches Grew So Tall They Twined Themselves Into A Bower. The Sun Shown ... And The Fall Of Yellow Blossom On The Grass! You Feel That Golden Rain? Both Of You Could Not Hold, Alas, (both Of You Tried, In Vain) A Memory, Stranger. So I Pass.... It Will Not Come Again.

If One Really Does Try To Find Out Why It Is That People Don't Leave Each Other, One Discovers A Mystery. It Is Because They Can't; They Are Bound. And Nobody On Earth Knows What Are The Bonds That Bind Them Except Those Two.

In The Shortest Sea Voyage There Is No Sense Of Time. You Have Been Down In The Cabin For Hours Or Days Or Years. Nobody Knows Or Cares. You Know All The People To The Point Of Indifference. You Do Not Believe In Dry Land Any More - You Are Caught In The Pendulum Itself, And Left There, Idly Swinging.

Why It Should Be Such An Effort To Write To The People One Loves I Can't Imagine. It's None At All To Write To Those Who Don't Really Count.

That Is The Fearful Part Of Having Been Near Death. One Knows How Easy It Is To Die. The Barriers That Are Up For Everybody Else Are Down For You, And You've Only To Slip Through.