It's warm enough to snow again, a soft sparkly snow. I find I have
little to say these days. It's not that I am preoccupied with the
disaster -- on the contrary, as 120,000 people die on the other side of
the globe, my life goes on as usual. It is this, I think, that
preoccupies me. How is it possible? The cats and dogs go on demanding
attention; I go on being warm and safe in my winter house; the
television goes on offering me trivial distractions. And snow falls,
and melts, and falls, and melts.