On Tuesday there will be a jewelled hush, an audit. The walks will be dressed in snow, the bushes incandescent with birds. Everything fallen into a divine abyss of lull, poem, zodiac, frost, butter. Perhaps today is the day, I do not know. I find it difficult to tell.Spot on!
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
Who says Lawrence Durrell was incapable of self-parody? This, from Zero and Asylum in the Snow (1946):