"…the dark. In fact today was all about waiting. The ocean disappointed me. But the sun put its pink clothes to get to sleep. I forgot a little about you. But I can see that you are not there. And tonight my legs are heavy.
When I write to you something strange occurs. I escape the space I occupy while I describe what surrounds me. I saw a raven from my window this morning. Then a sparrow. They made me think of the blue birds I don’t see here. The ones I didn’t notice in Buenos Aires till he took a photograph of one. I am in another room now. I see the garden and mill from above.
You were missed in the landscape this morning. They were covered of this grey that I love so much. Everything feels like holidays there. People don’t know what to do with winter. I don’t know if it’s a good or a sad thing. I mostly remember that the sun was heating the window pretty hardly. As strong as on the ocean. It must felt warm too. But I’m to far to hear it now.
It is colder but the snow melts and uncovers the yellow grass below. I hear running water. The river I see from here is frozen. A stream joins it. Where? It is too far to see. Everything is still. Even the passing cars…"