Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.

“I heard a bird sing in the dark of December. A magical thing and sweet to remember. "We are nearer to Spring than we were in September," I heard a bird sing in the dark of December.”

"Every winter an absent joy pains you. You walk into the rain, a single duo: you and the person you were in another winter."

But now she loved winter. Winter was beautiful "up back"—almost intolerably beautiful. Days of clear brilliance. Evenings that were like cups of glamour—the purest vintage of winter's wine. Nights with their fire of stars. Cold, exquisite winter sunrise. Lovely ferns of ice all over the windows of the blue castle. Moonlight on birches in a silver thaw. Ragged shadows on windy evenings-torn, twisted, fantastic shadows. The sun suddenly breaking through grey clouds over long, white mistawis. Ice-grey twilights, broken by snow-squalls, when their cosy living-room, with its goblins of firelight and inscrutable cats, seemed cosier than ever. Every hour brought a new revelation and wonder.

East Berlin 1987

I love to piss

Sissy Life